Thrice-Glorious Victory
by Lord Mendasuit
Summary: Harry Potter thought that for once, with the organization behind the Holy Grail Tournament, he would be safe for a year, able to relax... of course, if you know Harry, you know it's not that easy.
1. Secret of the Four Founders

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Secret of the Four Founders**

At the very centre of the Great Hall of Hogwarts stood a conceptual item, an ancient artifact known by many, both magical and mundane. An item of unknown power, with no known limitations of boundaries, sacred, divine even... and it was in the shape of a simple, unassuming wooden cup.

A simple object. A grail. Its manufacture was no different from others of its ilk. Carved wood, imperfect in many ways.

Just one more, indistinct object from the rest.

And yet, it was so different. So simple, yet complex. So mundane, yet the pinnacle of magic.

The simple, undecorated wooden cup was an artifact of unimaginable power, known by any who had ever heard of its legend simply as the 'Holy Grail', the cup said to have once held the divine blood of Jesus Christ, son of YHVH.

To a religious man, the existence of that cup would be the absolute proof of their faith, and of their truth.

To the men who surrounded it, however?

To them, religion never came into the equation. To them, the blood of Christ meant nothing, no...

The faith, hopes and dreams bestowed upon the cup, the passage of time, the enchantments bestowed upon it... it was those things that granted the cup its power. Roughly one thousand years after it had held the blood of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the Holy Grail had accumulated such a potent magical effect that it was said to be the key to supreme knowledge and absolute power, for those who knew how to harness it.

None knew how to harness the power of the Holy Grail to its fullest extent, until exactly one thousand years after the cup became famous amongst men and women alike.

Salazar Slytherin acquired the cup through a series of underhanded and shady deals, as befitting his self given title of the 'Cunning Basilisk', having spent entire fortunes just to locate, and appropriate the cup, but he knew without a doubt that he had neither the knowledge, nor the power, to make use of the artifact he had obtained. Nonetheless, he knew someone who had the mind that he sought, the mind that would unlock the grail's secrets. With simple honeyed words and false promises, he seduced a young lady of a noble house, one Rowena Ravenclaw, and lured her away from the protective confines of her family's lands.

Rowena proved a most useful resource, taking to the research project like a fish to water, flourishing under the freedom provided to her research. Salazar stopped at nothing and provided everything she ever found a need for, ranging from simple objects such as tools and furniture to extravagant, rare gemstones and even magical artifacts that some would believe priceless, yet were worth nothing next to the possibility of attaining the power that the Grail would give its user, once its secrets were unlocked.

After no less than five years of research, of absolute dedication, Rowena had finally concluded that the two of them did not possess sufficient means to harness the power of the grail. Resourceful and knowledgeable though they were, there was simply a fatal weakness to them, and that was their lack of power. Neither was a very powerful magic user, and affecting the enchantments on the grail required the use of tremendous amounts of magical energy, perhaps even necessitating the utilization of the leylines that ran beneath the earth to provide a channel from which to drain the planet's own energy to counter the grail's stubbornness.

Salazar sought high and low for someone who could face his requirements, who could fill the role that Rowena had explained they needed filled, and no less than a year passed without further developments, until at last, they came upon the people they required.

No single person reunited the traits they required, but just as they had made do for their own insufficiencies, bypassing them through combined effort, they found two people who could come together to fill the role they needed.

Godric Gryffindor was the first Salazar found, and he was a wizard of stupendous might, an honorable knight who served his king loyally and blindly. Salazar secretly wept, for such an imbecile was gifted with incomparable power, while he, the cleverest of them all, had been barely capable of magic on his youth and been forced to develop into the shrewd, resourceful snake that he was today. Godric's body would be the only one that could properly utilize the spells that they would need to use, and tricking him into aiding their pursuits was distressingly simple.

The man was simple, and that was it. He took Salazar's words at face value, and never questioned whether the King would disapprove of their practices, believing without question when told their experiments were commissioned by the king.

They also, however, required someone else. A druid, specifically, was required to form a connection to the planet that would allow them to properly utilize the leylines without endangering both themselves and the grail. In this regard, Helga Hufflepuff had stepped forward, a druidess of renown and prowess unmatched, who knew the secrets of the earth, and though unwilling to share them, she was willing enough to aid their purposes.

Thus was their alliance forged, borne out of necessity, out of greed and malice, out of naivete, an alliance as fragile as its weakest links.

Together, they designed a ritual that was supposed to utilize the magical abilities of the Holy Grail to its fullest, a ritual that was infinitely complex, and yet deceivingly simple.

The Holy Grail would be enchanted further than it already was, in such a way that it could gather magical energy on its own, automatically and constantly, for the grail required immense amounts of power to be utilized, power in levels that no human could provide, but could safely be drained from the ambient, and buried beneath the earth, stored in as safe a place as could possibly be, within a cavern of space warped by its own power, set in the middle of what could be called a spiderweb of leylines, which would feed it power at a constant rate.

Realizing that the Grail was too tempting a target for any who may discover its location and uses, they built a castle on top of it, a fortified palace that was as beautiful as it was impregnable. It did not take long for a town to be created alongside it, as it was in a prime location. At Salazar's insistence, the town permitted only magicals and their descendants. An added measure, he had justified it, as they would be in a better position to understand and defend the purpose of their fortress.

The castle itself was gigantic, expanded even further by the mysteries of magic applied to it, turning the structure from a simple creation of stone and mortar into a labyrinth, impervious to all but the most powerful of magical assaults.

None of the four knew where the decision to turn it into a school had come from... and yet, they could not complain. It would provide the final step for the plan that would lead to the activation, and use, of the Holy Grail, as the children who wandered the castle would unwittingly be part of a sinister plot, weaved by none other than the four founders which so many admired.

Today, nine hundred and eighty eight years after the Founders came together and hatched this most terrible of plans, will the results be beheld once more, as the Holy Grail Tournament draws ever closer...

* * *

The Ministry of Magic had sent as a representative none other than Cornelius Fudge, the Minister himself, to address the boys and girls of Hogwarts, to drop an unsuspected, surprise of a bomb on Hogwarts' population.

"Today marks the fortieth anniversary of the start of 1954's Holy Grail Tournament. Today marks the day that the Holy Grail of legend has finished charging itself, has finished preparing to become active once more, and engage in a new Tournament! Today marks the day in which one of you shall be chosen to represent Hogwarts, and as such, our very nation in this most illustrious competition, against representatives from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, the Vatican, the International Confederation of Wizards. This war, there shall be an unexpected change to the usual line up, as the Salem School for Witchcraft has petitioned for the opportunity to present an official representative of their own. Lastly, the seventh participant shall be the chosen of the Grail itself, who will choose from amongst all who volunteer their name the candidate it deems most worthy of the opportunity!"

Fudge, if nothing else, was good at capturing a crowd's attention and holding it. Few would have thought that the usually nervous and cowardly wizard would turn so different when faced with a crowd which he could easily manipulate with the spoken word, but even fewer would be those who would have understood that the man had been born to be a politician. Of those, Albus Dumbledore was one, and he lamented that a politician as talented as Fudge would be led astray by the silver tongue and golden pockets of Lucius Malfoy.

"Remember, all who would volunteer, you will represent not only yourself and your family, but your House, your very School, your nation, in this tournament, and as such, I ask that only those with the utmost determination to see this tournament through to its end apply."

Dumbledore faced the crowd, his face grave. "Allow me to repeat this, to further clarify it. Whoever volunteers for the duty of Hogwarts' Representative is not only putting their pride on the line, but their very life. Do not enter yourself unless you are one hundred percent certain that you wish to compete, and face the possibility of a gruesome death."

He didn't expect the children to follow his advice. Many would register themselves, just to look cool, or overestimating themselves and their bravery.

But it was okay.

Albus Dumbledore knew who would be Hogwarts' Representative, regardless, as there was only one who could outstrip Albus' choice in qualifications, and even then, just barely at that. It was lucky that the sole one more suited was one who Albus knew would not wish to find himself thrust upon this situation, and whom Albus himself would not dare thrust this situation into.

Still, he sighed preemptively, already dreading and grieving for the loss of life which he could do nothing about, for not even he with all his influence and power could overturn the Founders' traditions, as barbaric as they were.

* * *

It was finally the time for the last servant summoning, and Albus found himself impatient, looking at the nearly full moon with a frown of displeasure in his face. He knew who had been chosen to be a master from each organization. The representative from the Vatican had chosen to remain anonymous for the time being, and there wasn't much Albus could do, as even though he was the designated Moderator for the War, his influence extended solely to the very limits of Hogsmeade's boundaries, and as long as the representative from the Vatican never set foot in them, Albus could not strip them of their command seals and servant as a punishment for the subversion of the rules, which called the Masters to presenting themselves to him, along with their servants.

In order, the servants summoned had been Lancer, Rider, Archer, Berserker, Assassin and Caster. Saber had yet to be summoned.

That was rare. The Saber class was usually the first to be chosen, as all masters were likely to strive to attain a servant of the strongest class, whether through rituals geared to that result or through the use of catalysts. Regardless, Saber would be summoned today. Already he could feel within his domain the presence of six Heroic Spirits, of six warriors of unfathomable power and prowess.

This, by itself, was strange, as usually the Assassin class kept much better- No. That presence was not Assassin. Had Saber finally been summoned?

The shadows melted and parted, as a humanoid-shaped cloud of steam rose from the clean floor, almost seeming to condense into existence from a cloud of steam that had risen.

"I am Servant Ruler. I ask of you, are you the Moderator?" the figure that had risen asked.

"Yes. May I ask your identity?" Albus asked, completely at ease with the situation. He knew all servants but this one, and as such, his words about being the Ruler, the servant who would oversee the Grail Tournament to ensure it did not spill beyond the humans' ability to control. The servant that was technically bound to no master, but who would act as a partner to the Moderator.

"You may, but you will not receive a satisfactory answer. Where would the fun be in that, I ask?" the man said, chuckling warmly. Albus liked him already. He wore a body-concealing black robe and had the hood pulled up such that it hid the majority of his face from view, only allowing what was below his nose to be seen, revealing youthful features marred with a a pair of magical symbols that glowed with blue light. Albus guessed that this was a handsome young male. An odd choice for the Ruler class.

"Fair enough," Albus conceded.

"Personally, I'd prefer to be called Arbiter, that would be a little closer to my role in the tournament, though I suppose Ruler shall have to do. While I have been told I am quite stiff, straight has never been an attribute people have given me," Ruler said with a cheeky smile on his face. "I suppose you are no different yourself, are you?"

Dumbledore blushed for a second before he shook his head. "Your presence... does this mean what I believe it means?"

"Yes. As of the moment I arrived, the Holy Grail Tournament has officially commenced!"

"Saber and the Master of Saber still haven't been confirmed, and I can sense only six servants' presence, including your own and accounting for Assassin's invisible presence," Albus explained, his eyes twinkling slightly, as he fished for information.

"At this point, events are on a set course. The Grail has already predetermined who its chosen master shall be, and who the summoned who accompany that master shall be. I'd ask that you come with me, but I know that you will, as I don't think either of us would want to miss the events that are happening even as I speak."

Dumbledore merely nodded. "Lead the way, Ruler," he said.

"You really need to work on your puns," Ruler said, shaking his head, before he turned around and walked at a brisk pace, not even caring that he went straight through the Headmaster's door and gargoyle.

* * *

"You know, I hadn't thought I'd be killing kids here," a disembodied voice spoke, from everywhere and nowhere at once, the impossibility of something that wasn't there speaking wreaking havoc in Harry's mind.

He had to flee. Flee flee flee run run run fast fast-erk

Something had caught him. "It's almost pitiful, in a way, to use my techniques on something like you, that can't possibly defend itself from them. It brings shame to these fists of mine, which have taken the lives of masters, but if this is to be my lot in life, I will cope. You will not be the first child whose blood stains me, and if its any consolation, you at least took me a few seconds longer to catch than the usual. You're slippery prey, if nothing else. Still have no idea why my master ordered your death, mind you, and I don't think I will get anything out of you either."

Harry panicked, and could do nothing but swing his wand at where he felt the pull that kept him in place coming from, discharging all the magical power he could in a combination between a banisher and a stunner. He could feel the hand that held onto him slip for a second, and he wasted no time in breaking into a run again.

He almost made it to the end of the hall before he once more found himself stopped, this time pinned to the floor. "Okay, that? That proves that I was wrong. You have some fighting spirit to you. Good! Defend yourself! Show me your spirit burning brightest, just as I am about to snuff the flame of your soul!" the voice from before was now clearly carrying a hint of madness that further increased Harry's fear.

Harry shrieked in response, trying to do something, anything, flaring all of his power at once, but he felt a strong hand wrap around his throat, starting to squeeze and stopping any attempt at getting his voice out to secure aid.

His left hand burned with unimaginable pain, and he practically felt his skin burst open. Every part of his body except it felt as if it was on fire, and with his throat blocked, his screams died before he could get them out.

For a moment, he felt as if he were being torn apart at the seams, as if he were being split in three, then mashed together and returned to a form that was almost what had started, but not quite. The burning sensation increased, and despite the pain and loss of cognition caused by his asphyxiation, he wished for nothing more than for the pain in his left arm to end.

His wish was granted, for all of a sudden, the world shifted and rippled.

He heard a sound not unlike a clap of thunder, as well as a meaty thud, before everything went black.

* * *

Whew. Now that took a lot of time.

Just a heads up... If you've got a complain against the fic, then I'm begging you right here and now to make it known to me.

This is a very simple concept people. I cannot improve unless I'm told what I'm doing wrong (and if at all possible how to fix it). Subjective though it might be, your complaining helps me a lot more than any number of positive reviews. Do not fear my reaction, even if your review is nothing but a long string of flames headed in my direction.

I'll be thankful for any help that I can get. If I were a good writer, I'd be writing for a living, and while that's a very interesting prospect, it's simply not viable as I am now. I'd have to be damn stupid to reject criticism entirely. I may or may not implement changes and fixes that you propose depending on my own leanings and opinions, but don't let that discourage you from making them.

I read EVERY review, and pay attention to ALL of them, no matter the content.

Fortunately for me, I've already got a planned roster for servants and masters AND a general idea of where to go as well as an outline of how to get there.

This is a fusion fic between the Fate parts of the Nasuverse and the Harry Potter universe. As you can see, there's a pretty damn big change already, particularly when it comes to the Holy Grail, the war, Hogwarts and its Founders. As you might have guessed, this takes place during Goblet of Fire. Just imagine that instead of the Tri Wizard Tournament, they're going to fight a Holy Grail War.

For the record, ALL the servants are characters from one Fate source or another and, except for ONE, they're all in the classes they were summoned to in canon. The sole exception is Servant Ruler, who is NOT actually a servant in Fate canon, and obviously not Ruler (because the only Servant Ruler I'm aware of is Jeanne D'Arc, and given the summoned servant is male, it's clearly not her). For the record, I will try to remain as true to both sources as I possibly can, but you will have to allow me some wiggle room in certain things, because I need to alter them in order to allow the fic to work. Take comfort in that unless I get something seriously wrong inadvertently, most will be deliberate changes that will be explained within the story itself.

I don't think I will have to really touch the skills of the Nasuverse servants and their mechanics all that much. I think I can make it work while still keeping both sources recognizable, but again, you will have to allow me some wiggle room in order to make the fusion as seamless as possible.

And... that's that, I guess. If anyone has any questions, I will try my best to explain as best as possible. If it's a question that is asked frequently or a matter I feel should be absolutely clear, I will explain in an author's note. Of course, this doesn't apply to plot critical details, such as the identity of servants, though it should be clear enough for those who are knowledgeable about the most popular bits of the Fate franchise. Knowing some of the more obscure works should not be necessary. Any concepts I borrow from them should receive enough explanation in story so as to make the necessity of reading the source material moot.

I also reserve the right to refuse to answer certain questions that would spoil the plot, of course, though if possible, I will try to make my explanations as non-spoilery as possible. I suppose I will have to do with just being vague, going into specifics only when it wouldn't be a spoiler of anything.


	2. Knights in the Nightmare

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Knights in the Nightmare**

* * *

How had it come to this?

How could it be?

So much suffering, so much pain... endured for naught? So much work, so much effort, so much blood, sweat and tears spilled, in the name of this... all tossed aside like it had meant nothing?

He could feel his lifeblood seeping away, staining the grass below him. It hurt. Oh so very much.

But more than the wound, it was the feeling of emptiness. Of longing.

Sorrow, it was sorrow. He couldn't speak, couldn't confess his pain, his anger, his hatred... his sorrow, his guilt, his shame. He couldn't say anything. He could only extend a hand forward, wishing, more than anything, to convey his feelings. It was hard to move even his blood soaked hand, it was hard to take that torturous step forward, but he did.

His hand was extended, wishing for nothing more than acknowledgment. Wishing for nothing more than that.

"F-Father-"

But even that, he was denied, and the world went black.

* * *

Harry awoke with a yell of pain, as his body felt like someone was trying to pull him in three different directions at once, trying to separate his skin, flesh and bones each, but it calmed rapidly, and it just left him numb and exhausted. His eyes flickered open, and even blurred as they were, he recognized his surroundings with ease, being one of the rooms he most frequented in the school.

Being a fragile boy who played a somewhat violent sport, Harry was not unacquainted with the Hospital Wing, and the healer that attended it. He blinked the cobwebs of sleep away with practiced ease, routine making it easy to ignore unfamiliar aches and phantom pains that disturbed what would otherwise be a pretty normal day after he had gotten beaned by Bludgers thrown by a pair of beaters hell bent on stopping him from catching the snitch.

Last one must've been a particularly bad injury, as he had lost memory of the game that preceded it- and then information came rushing into his mind.

There hadn't been a quidditch game. There was no quidditch this year. Perhaps an assault by Malfoy, then? It was likely, Draco was an ass who never passed an opportunity to get back at him for whatever perceived slight was the latest one to offend him. Harry yawned, silently and as subtly as he could, and shook his head, bringing his arms up to rub his eyes... only to find that his left arm was unresponsive. With a frown, he blinked away the moisture that had gathered in his eyes and fumbled on the right nightstand, where the nurse would always put his glasses. Finding them, he quickly, and awkwardly, put them on and directed a look at what could be the after effects of whatever Malfoy had hit him with.

Well, whatever it had been had apparently left a pretty nasty mark, so red it looked like it was inked on. It seemed to be some sort of tribal pattern that started at the knuckle of his middle finger and winded, intertwining with several lines on the way, towards his elbow. Observing it, there seemed to be nine lines in total, and it seemed to be shaped not unlike some sort of rune. He frowned, thinking about what the original target might've been.

He doubted it was harmful, even if his arm felt like he'd put it on a meat grinder. It wasn't dissimilar from the pain he'd gotten the time he'd needed to have his bones regrown after Lockhart the Fraud had vanished the bones in his arm.

Shaking his head a little to dispell memories of a quidditch victory that accompanied that event, he decided to look around himself.

"Well, well, well... It seems that you've awoken at last. Quite rude, to keep me waiting for... oh, how long has it been?" an amused voice asked.

"Three hours," another, much more gruff and almost grating, a metallic, unidentifiable tone to it, added.

"Oh, yes, you should probably present yourself to him," the... Harry blinked a few times, and focused his eyes as much as he could. Yep, it seemed to be a somewhat young man wearing a concealing cloak that left only unremarkable, if handsome in a sort of bland way, features visible. The man was talking. Yeah.

Next to the amused looking wizard, who somehow reminded Harry of Dumbledore for some reason, stood a veritable tin man. A figure of polished and decorated steel, betraying nothing but a walking fortress. There was a sense of unmistakable power that emanated from this being, and for a second, Harry felt a strange, familiar feeling... an instant, before a thundering carnival of feelings rolled through his stomach, and his head swam. Nausea crept up to him, and vertigo made him feel as if someone had shot the bed to the sky, but he caught himself by shaking his head.

"I suppose I should," the tin man said, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I am Servant Saber. In response to your call I have come. Are you my master?"

Harry got the suspicion that something bad was going on. "... Wait... does this have anything to do with the Holy Grail business?"

Hermione, bless her hyperactive brain, had looked up what the 'Grail War', as it'd been nicknamed, entailed, after hearing how dangerous it was and immediately deducing it'd be, one way or another, dangerous to Harry. Of course, she hadn't expected Harry to wind up as a participant, for the grail rarely chose any under sixteen years of age, or so she said, but of course, Harry's luck was legendary already.

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, it does. You are, after all, a participant. Well, you will be, once we're done here," stated the cloak wearing man.

"So I guess I am your master, then?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat silly.

"Yes," the armored man said, and Harry could almost feel the disappointment emanating from the hulking mass of steel.

"Now, fact of the matter is, when your servant, that's Saber over there, saved your life from that guy trying to take it, well, a blow that was originally meant for you had to go somewhere else," the black cloak wearing man spoke, and Harry saw his lips quirk into a smirk. "Unfortunately, while your servant was more than tough enough to withstand an attack like that, it had a side effect, severing the connection between you two. Now, if your brainy friend has read upon the grail war and told you, and yes, I just read your mind to find out about that, then you should know what that means."

"Without a connection to a master to supply me with Prana, I will disappear. Soon. We need to fix that post haste," Saber said, imperiously.

"... And what does that mean for me?" Harry asked, somewhat meekly, knowing he really didn't have much of an option. If Saber had been summoned for the Holy Grail Tournament, then it was likely she had a wish that needed granting and it could grant.

"There are multiple ways to reestablish the contract, though right now, most would be useless," Saber explained, "because our contract isn't truly severed. The link between us, that provides me with Prana, however, is."

"And that's where I come in. See, I am Servant Ruler, and while I am technically supposed to not involve myself in such matters, I'm not here to be a simple mediator. I'm here because I want to ensure that you at least get to compete, 'cause it's more fun that way," the newly named Ruler stated, grinning, "unlike Saber, who really has no grounds to be talking about spellcasting, I do know a lot about it, and can help you solve the issue you have with your servant so you can supply Saber with Prana."

"It's going to be something super embarrassing, isn't it?" Harry asked, somewhat resigned.

"You're taking this better than I expected. To be honest, I expected a sniveling brat wanting to get out of this," Saber admitted, blatantly admitting a low opinion of the one who was supposedly maintaining his existence.

"Why, thank you," Harry said dryly. "It's not the first time I've been put in a sucky situation. Figured I might as well just roll with it for now."

"Sounds good," Saber said, "I approve of your resilience, if nothing else."

"Now, stop flirting for a minute-" Harry sputtered for a moment there, "- and listen to me. Okay. The solution to this problem is actually quite simple. Solving the contract issue is not possible, as the way it was screwed with is beyond the ability of human healers to correct. I could, of course, but I won't-"

"... Why?" Harry asked, sounding exasperated.

"Because I'm an asshole like that," Ruler supplied, "anyhow, point is, I can tell you how to bypass the issue entirely... Though I'm told it's illegal in this day and age. According to the grail, it's called statutory rape, if I'm not mistaken, but then again, Grail Tournament, you're outside the normal laws for the duration, so-"

"Statutory Rape!?" Harry nearly yelled, alarmed.

"Oh. Yes. I'll perform a small ritual on you. No worries, I'll regenerate any damage I do to you, though it might take some time getting used to the new muscles. Point is, after I do that, then all you've gotta do to transfer some Prana to Saber here is to-"

Saber sneezed within the armor.

Harry blinked.

Saber shrugged, clearly not giving a damn.

"Impeccable timing," Ruler admitted. "Still, as I was saying, you need to give Saber a wet, sloppy and ridiculously exaggerated french kiss!"

Harry blinked.

"Well, there's the alternative, but I don't think Dumbledore would let me get away with making a fourteen years old boy lose his virginity to a heroic spirit..."

Harry looked at Saber.

Then he sighed. "You're gonna kill me and look for another master if I refuse, aren't you?"

"Pretty much, yes," Saber admitted freely. "I'm here to win."

"I guess I can bite a bullet for the team, then..."

Saber nodded, raising both arms. All of a sudden, the armor was gone, in place just a simple, red linen tunic, embroidered with golden thread in simplistic designs on the cuffs and hem.

It became quite obvious that Saber was not, in fact, a manly knight like Harry was expecting.

"... You're really-"

"If you finish that sentence, Master, I'm carrying out Plan B," Saber warned.

"I've seen weirder," Harry admitted, after a second of thought.

"So have I!" Ruler piped up, almost jumping up and down.

Saber raised a delicate, almost dainty hand to the bridge of an aristocratic, pointy nose that was perfect for looking down upon people, focusing emerald eyes, a colour Harry recognized as the same that was in his own, on the black haired boy. "Anything else before we begin?"

"Just one thing... for the record, you are not, in fact, the girliest man I have met. Thought I should throw that out," Harry admitted.

"I... I'm not sure whether I should be offended or not," Saber admitted after a moment's hesitation. "Regardless, let's just get this over with, so that we can focus on winning this war."

"Okay. It's pretty simple, actually. Stay still for a minute, you," Ruler warned Harry, and then put a finger on his forehead. Harry became perfectly, almost deathly, still. "This would probably be easier if I knew what I'm doing right now, but no risk, no reward!" Ruler spoke, before he pulled out a marker from... somewhere, and snapped his fingers, making Harry's robes disappear, leaving him sitting naked on a bed in front of the two servants.

"He has seen some battle, at least," Saber commented, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back slightly.

"Oh, yeah. He's got some of that basilisk's venom in him. Probably means he's toxic to vampires. Good for him. Proooobably bad for any children he might have, though. Oh," Ruler suddenly returned to his task and began drawing on Harry's naked chest, before poking one of his barely-there abdominal muscles. "Hm... that's a stab wound, isn't it?" he asked, looking at Harry's eyes for an instant, and then nodding, "pocket knife, then."

Saber kept silent, as Ruler returned to his drawings.

"That's an improperly healed bone- oh, vanished and regrown entirely. Wonder how you ended up with your bones turned to powder like- well that's bloody hilarious. Hm... this one's... Cat claws? Yep. Cat teeth right next to it, too. Odd, but not very. Hm... this is probably the result of getting covered in some sort of acidic potion. That one's... that's from a broom twig piercing through, isn't it? Quidditch? Right. That explains the damaged ribs and arms. Bludgers. You Chase, then? Ah, Seek? A little boring, but whatever floats your boat. 's true that it does allow more freeform flying than any other position, though. Well... I think that should be that," Ruler finished, coincidentally finishing his drawings with a flourish, vanishing the marker in his hand.

"I thought wizards had to use blood and assorted catalysts to utilize this kind of ritual," Saber commented, having ignored the catalogue of every bit of damage Harry's torso and arms had ever gotten.

"They do. I don't, because I'm awesome," Ruler said, grinning impishly and standing up. "Okay now, this may either sting just a bit, or make you want to kill yourself to stop the pain. I can never remember which. Now, it's important that you brace yourself and-"

Ruler was interrupted when the ritualistic drawings on Harry's body suddenly came to life, shining brightly, and causing his eyes to dilate.

"Oh, it was 'Please Kill Me' pain. Should probably jot that down somewhere," Ruler said, then clearly forgot about it immediately afterwards. "Point is, that part is done. Now, there's two ways to proceed from here. You can just kiss, which should top Saber's Prana Capacity, or you can just go all the way and do the exact same thing but have a lot more fun doing it. Personally, I recommend that, but that's just me. What you do now is up to you. Me? I'm just going to see if there's anyone trying to take an early shower. Gotta get me some Prana batteries for myself, so to speak," Ruler said with a winning smile, before simply vanishing into thin air.

No pop. No crack.

Ruler was just gone.

"... I'm not gay," Harry said, quickly.

Saber looked down at him, haughtily. "Can you say you are not attracted to me?"

"I am not attracted to you," Harry said, flatly.

"Odd. I know my Charisma is of a low rank, but it should still work... I suppose your will is stronger than you seem, Master. Regardless, if you're going to let something as simple as sexual orientation get in the way of a vital-"

"I didn't say that!" Harry countered, eyes narrowed. "I said I'm not gay."

Saber rolled his eyes, before grabbing onto Harry's shoulders, and simply smashing their lips together.

Harry felt a strangely pleasurable sensation for an instant, before the exhaustion that came from the drain overcame him, and they separated.

"Your Prana capacity is more than satisfactory!" Saber commented, smiling, "My reserve is full."

"Good to know," Harry said, raising a hand to wipe his lips on his robe's sleeve, only to remember that his robes were just gone. "... Dammit," he said to himself. "If I ask you, you're not going to fetch clothes for me, are you?

"You guessed right," Saber confirmed. "Still... I do believe it to be convenient. I certainly can't walk around in this tunic, let alone my armor, in public, and you ought to replace the clothes you lost today. Therefore, we will go on a shopping trip as soon as possible."

Saber seemed... oddly giddy about it for some reason.

Harry sighed. "Should we go to Hogsmeade, then?"

"Yes. We should. With some luck, we will come across the enemy and get this conflict started already."

The young wizard sighed. "I think it's sort of sad that this is not the first time I'll have to sneak into the Gryffindor Common Room naked," he admitted.

Saber glanced at him.

"It's a long story that involves romance, action and- okay, it's not. A pair of pranksters mistimed a prank and hit me with a charm that lined all of my clothes with horribly irritating itchy powder, just as I was getting back from Astronomy. Then they set my clothes on fire because apparently the charm went so wrong that it was starting to infect other people's robes too, and by that I mean theirs, so we had to run into our common room naked. I don't think their mother has forgiven them for wasting a perfectly good pair of robes, even though they paid for the replacements themselves," Harry explained.

"Talk about a glorious adventure," Saber said, dryly.

"I'd rather have a hundred of those than be in one of these," Harry said, gesturing towards himself, specifically his left arm.

Saber shook his head, but said nothing.

"Anyway... who are you, exactly? If I recall correctly, Hermione said that something called Legendary Souls, heroes of the past, are summoned... but I have to admit, you don't ring any bells to me." Or rather, Saber did ring a few bells, but they only caused Harry more confusion.

Saber was about to speak, but suddenly stopped himself, before shaking his head. "Unlike the other masters, you don't have any defense towards mental intrusion. It'd be easy to read your mind to find out my identity if I reveal it to you. If they know my identity, they'll know my abilities, and be able to plan around me and discover my weaknesses," so he was not too prideful to admit that he had them, that was good, "which means I can't tell you for both of our safeties."

Harry nodded. "Unlike the others, I wasn't prepared to take part in this tournament," he admitted, somewhat contrite.

"We can only do the best we can with what we have," the knight informed him, and Harry nodded his head. "Now, do you need further rest? I personally could use a nap."

Harry yawned as if on cue. "I guess I do... but where will you sleep?"

Saber laughed. "In order to ensure your security, Master, I have to be as close to you as possible, so it would only be natural we share a room and-"

The wizard blinked. "You know what? I'm too tired to care..." he said, raising the blankets.

It did make Saber smile, and he had a pretty smile, Harry thought, as he removed his glasses, pointedly ignoring how Saber unfastened the tunic he wore, and placed them on the same place he'd found them in earlier. Soon enough, Saber had joined him in the surprisingly roomy bed. "You know, it's just hit me, but... this isn't the hospital wing, is it?"

"Of course not. That would place you on an extremely visible area and thus at the mercy of any and all masters that would wish harm upon you. No, this is a room created for you within this castle, which only you, myself, the Tournament's Moderator and Servant Ruler know the location of. It is a safe haven in which you are effectively protected from others, but it's use is limited to the discretion of Servant Ruler and the Moderator, and we can be kicked out at any time we are perceived as abusing the relative safety this room provides. I'd recommend never remaining within it more than ten hours at a time, at most. Furthermore, if it's discovered by enemy servants, it will not bar their access, as defending this room is considered to be our responsibility."

Harry hummed in thought. "Why does it look like the Hospital Wing, though?"

"According to the grail, it's supposed to be a place in which you feel safe and secure."

Harry nodded. It made sense.

"Good night, Saber."

"Good night, Master."

And with those parting words, Harry let himself fall asleep on what was the most mentally and physically demanding night of his life. Weirdest one, too. He never thought he'd kiss a man, and even worse, like it.

* * *

Fun times, I doubled back and went on with my original plans!

While I am limited on my knowledge of the source for Saber to what the Wiki and CanonRap allow me to know, I should be able to keep everything in place until I'm doing deliberate alterations.

It should be quite obvious, for those who know the source material, who Saber is, though I've taken care not to be overly obvious. Canon doesn't give me a lot of choices here (Arturia is summoned not only twice, but THREE TIMES. She's even summoned in the Moon Cell, though you don't get to fight her (presumably she and her master run afoul of Ryougi Shiki, since I don't really see pretty much anyone taking her out with the Moon Cell's rules, since it should allow her to just Excaliblast her way past pretty much every opponent, unless her master sucked pretty badly), and yes, she is summoned in the Moon Cell Grail War and Nero mentions her, which she wouldn't be able to do if there wasn't an Arturia (No, I will not call her 'Altria', because Arturia just sounds better) if Arturia hadn't been summoned), unlike with others. Now that's a lot of parenthesis in one paragraph.

Also, I have been made aware of the Kotomine Shirou thing, and I must say: My statement still stands. At the time I made the statement, the only Ruler I was aware of was Jeanne D'Arc, and was not aware there was also a Ruler for the Third Grail War.

Still, Ruler remains the only character who isn't a canonical servant in their canonical class. And he's also kind of a jerk, almost making me reveal his name every other line. Cheeky bugger.

FAQs for last chapter:

Yes, the thing with the dates last chapter WAS a goof on my part. I should have fixed it by now, though. If I haven't, then I'll get to it later, when you point it out to me!

Maybe I should add blatant errors to my chapters so people will rush to review and correct me? Oughta be better than begging for reviews, at least...


	3. Casual Wear: The Bane of Kings

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Casual Wear: The Bane of Kings**

* * *

"Never. Ever."

Harry looked at the horned helm in his hand. It would go well with his armor. Still... the entire design was oddly sinister and intimidating.

If nothing else, he'd strike fear into the hearts of his enemies.

He could live with that.

* * *

Harry hadn't slept very long.

But he had never felt better in his life.

Looking back, he didn't truly remember a time when he had to complain about pains waking up. Even if he'd gone to sleep with some deep ache, it'd either be numbed to tolerability or outright gone by morning. It was something that had made his life bearable, and also the reason why, despite his many, many visits to the hospital wing, he hadn't ever decided to quit Quidditch over his injuries. Even the mediwitch that often complained about his far-too-frequent visits could not find fault in his body's natural constitution, and Madame Pomfrey was probably the person who was the most worried about his health in the school, being the one who witnessed all its drops.

Still, he never woke up feeling 'good'. Just... normal.

He woke up refreshed and ready to face another day, but never feeling on top of his game, feeling like he could take on the world and win.

But... never before had he woken up with someone else's arms around him. Never before had he woken up feeling like there was someone on his side, someone who would protect him, someone who would chase the nightmares away. He had never felt the warmth of another body sharing his bed, being too young to remember the feeling of sleeping with his parents, if he ever had.

It was nice.

The body that was holding onto him so tightly was, by the strong pull of the arms that surrounded him, the one of the servant he'd summoned. Saber, the Girly Man. Harry knew that Saber would probably punch him for even thinking that, but seeing the adorably cute sleeping face that the knight made when under Morpheus' spell... well, it made it worthy to note that Saber really was very, very girly. Now that Harry had a moment to appreciate his situation, he felt himself sigh.

He couldn't muster the anger to truly be frustrated at the state of affairs. It could only be normal for him to be pulled into a tournament he hadn't ever intended to be in. At least, Saber by his side gave him a little confidence. Emanating raw power and a sense of confidence that was uplifting, the boyish knight was a symbol of strength and willpower that Harry could draw from, helping him face his situation with a little less apprehension than he would usually have. This tournament had been known to kill people, for its prize was that valuable.

Yeah, it didn't help that killing a Master was obviously much easier than killing a hero of legend. Far as he knew, the only one who became a hero due to consistent good luck was none other than Harry Potter himself.

Well, if nothing else, at least his bad luck quota for the year should've been filled with this.

Just as he was thinking this, Saber's arms tightened around him, and he was pulled closer to the servant, whose face was now nuzzling Harry's chest. A cute moan left surprisingly full, effeminate lips Harry hadn't noticed before.

However, all of Harry's attention was taken by the reason for Saber's moan.

For you see, as their situation had been such that they had both chosen to sleep in the nude, Harry forced to do so while Saber because the linen tunic she wore clearly wasn't comfortable enough for her to be bed clothes, they were now sharing a lot of skin contact. This led to Harry making a startling discovery.

Saber, as a matter of fact, did not have a penis.

He knew this, because otherwise, he'd be touching it right now. Talk about crossing swords...

Instead of a penis, what Harry was rubbing against was...

Well, now that made sense. That was why her voice sounded that effeminate when the helm was off, and why her face, despite having youthful and pretty features that made her somewhat androgynous, had feminine lips. Also probably the reason why she kept her hair long.

Saber was, in fact, a woman. A petite, golden haired woman. Whose skin Harry felt every inch of, pressed against his as it was. Yep. He could feel the small, perky mounds of her breasts pressed against his stomach.

She wanted to be seen as a man. That meant she probably came from a culture that placed women below men. Probably one that wouldn't have allowed her to be a knight were she known to be a woman. She had probably grown up pretending to be a man. Well, at least he could knock Joan of Arc off the list of people he'd summoned. As far as he knew, that one hadn't ever hidden the fact that she was a woman. Still, he didn't know of very man legends of females who posed as males. And worse, she could very well have gone undiscovered and thus recorded as a man.

Trying to figure out what legendary figure he had summoned was going to be a tough one, though admittedly he still remembered the words she gave him. He had no defense against mental invasion, and as such, her true name could very well serve to reveal a weakness or limitation of hers that could be exploited to cause their doom. It was scary, Harry mused, how much such a simple bit of information could change, but there wasn't much to do about it. He'd just have to trust in his servant's ability to keep her identity hidden, then... but the curiosity burned something fierce.

Saber let out another cute moan and, to Harry's untrained eyes, it was obvious she was waking up.

Some would have expected some sort of blow up, having her blush and scream about him being a pervert, or something of the sort.

Nothing like that happened.

* * *

Nothing interesting had happened on their trip through Hogsmeade, either. The town that surrounded Hogwarts castle, built as a protection and to have the infrastructure to support Hogwarts as a fortress, if Binns was to be believed, was, in as few words as possible, boring as sh*t, when one wasn't going to the usual tourist spots. Harry was being followed by his servant, in invisible form. It seemed that 'astralizing' themselves, that is returning their spiritual existences to their natural states instead of taking advantage of the ability the grail gave them of taking form, made their prana drain lessen considerably, and also made them invisible. Terribly useful, when otherwise Saber would've made quite a scene, in her sinister looking armor.

Admittedly, most of Hogsmeade knew that the Grail War was going on, because they were a magic-only town, so nobody would look twice at a Master and a servant, but Harry was trying to remain as low profile as possible. To that end, he had foregone the customary black robes and black hood that would've made him distressingly obvious and had instead managed to sneak into his dorm to take a ratty pair of trainers, a faded, ripped pair of jeans, plain, non-Hogwarts trimmed robes and stolen the pointy hat that his ex roommate Seamus Finnegan had bought but never used.

Seamus' big head came in handy, as the hat was a little too big for Harry and covered the entirety of his face from view with its drooping rim, while still allowing Harry to see what was directly in front and below him. Saber would be guiding him to where she wanted to go with telepathic shouts. He could, unfortunately, not respond to her or shut her out, which was a bummer, as she was clearly enjoying dragging him all around Hogsmeade to window shop.

Finally, they came across a store that had clothing in the style Saber would wear. And of course, while still holding onto her 'manhood', she had gone and bought a midriff-exposing tube top and shorts so impossibly short that Harry wasn't certain they weren't supposed to be underwear. Well, the material seemed to be a little rough for that, but then again, she was a Servant and so tough that she probably wouldn't be bothered with that. Nobody could call Scotland at the best of times warm, so it made no sense for her to be wearing something like that.

Still, Harry guessed that they were done and were to return, when she just chuckled. "I still have to buy underwear," she remarked, plainly and clearly.

Harry groaned.

"You wouldn't complain if you knew what passed for underwear when I lived," she remarked, sounding snappy and imperious at once. Almost like a petulant child. A petulant child making her father buy her a new wardrobe as an apology for a perceived, imaginary offense.

And same as that father who would just let out a long and sorrowful sigh, Harry could do nothing but curse his servant's extravagant taste in clothing. Admittedly, her lithe body was something worth admiring, and it was being made abundantly clear by the eyes from the males around them, which almost bugged out at the sight of Saber's almost fully exposed body.

It was funny to note that, despite having strength which Harry knew to be much, much superior to that of a human being's, she hadn't a visible muscle on her. If anything, she looked like a happy go lucky girl his age.

"Can't you wear something that calls a little less attention to yourself?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I could," Saber commented.

And that was that.

She could, but she wouldn't. She must be actively punishing him.

"You will," Harry added, feeling testy, as the annoyance of the day began piling up, and he forgot that he was speaking to a being that could kill him a dozen times before he felt the first punch.

"Oh, I will?" Saber asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've got three absolute orders on you, right?" Harry said, rubbing his chin. "I could always use them to make you do something embarrassing. Like dance naked in the Hogwarts Great Hall during dinnertime."

Saber blinked, almost stunned. "... You cannot possibly be considering that," she said, somewhat out of it. "You're bluffing."

Harry looked at her impassively.

Saber met his eyes for a full ten seconds, before huffing.

Before they left the store in which she got most of her attire, she grabbed a red leather jacket and carelessly drapped it over her shoulders.

"... My kingdom, my kingdom for a pair of pants!" Harry said, in a mockingly distressed tone.

Saber wasn't very amused.

"For the record, I totally was bluffing, I'm neither that petty nor am I that dumb," Harry remarked.

The servant didn't respond.

Still, she bought comfortable underwear that wouldn't be uncomfortable to fight in, though Harry agreed that a bra was pointless given her lack of breasts that needed support (privately, of course, lest he voice it and provoke her temper).

Harry wondered how her panties fit beneath the spray-painted on shorts, but far be it from him to question the mysteries of female anathomy.

* * *

Given that they were in Hogsmeade anyway, they might as well actually explore and have some fun. While it was a saturday, and thus, a day in which students above third year could go to Hogsmeade without issue, it was not filled with very many students, as most were shaken by the warnings about the possibility of Servant to Servant combat occurring, something that could very well be very lethal to those caught in the crossfire. Harry hadn't been in Hogsmeade last year, as he had not been granted a permission slip, so he was as new to it as Saber was.

Harry had a significant money supply, as Sirius had advised him to have money on hand for any eventuality and he'd taken all of it when he'd left the castle with Saber (figuring that she was a superior security system to any other possible and thus having no fear of losing it to a pickpocket), and so they were walking around Hogsmeade, long enough for Saber to pronounce her hunger. Seeing as it was close to lunchtime, Harry chose the nearest pub and they quickly approached it to ask for something to take the edge off her hunger until lunchtime.

Saber looked somewhat bemused at the place he brought them to, but remained silent and didn't actively deride it. She adjusted her jacket, and Harry could almost see the internal debate on whether or not to actually keep it in place. Finally, she seemed to have surrendered to it and put her arms through the correct holes, putting the jacket on the way it was supposed to be.

Harry thought she looked cute like that, though given her face and petite body, she might very well have looked cute in just about anything.

"Statistics?" Harry asked, having caught a word in Saber's telepathic rant that had caught his attention.

"Statistics," she began, knowing that her Master had not, in fact, prepared for the war and would thus be unfamiliar with many terms associated to it, "are basically a simplified form of looking at servants' abilities and powers. You should have access to mine and those of the servants you meet, though your ability to view other servants' stats is limited until either you or I learn more about them, at which point your mental record of them is updated."

Harry blinked, and was prepared to ask how to access that knowledge, when merely the thought of wanting to do so caused him to instantaneously learn how to do so, as if the knowledge had been spontaneously dumped into his brain.

His mind focused on Saber for an instant, and for an instant, his vision changed, and became filled with an image that was right out of a videogame. It was a blue status screen that Harry could've sworn he saw at least once on one of those videogames Dudley started but never finished.

* * *

SERVANT SABER

Spirit: ?

Master: Harry James Potter

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Strength: A

Mana: B

Endurance: A

Luck: C

Agility: A

Noble Phantasm: A

CLASS SKILLS:

Magic Resistance: B

Riding: B

PERSONAL SKILLS:

?: ?

?: ?

?: ?

?: ?

?: ?

NOBLE PHANTASMS:

?: ? ?

?: ? ?

?: ? ?

* * *

Harry shook his head, almost as if to ward of a headache that never came. "Well, that's a lot of question marks," he said, as he came back to reality.

"That is because of one of my Noble Phantasms. My helmet," Saber said, helpfully, "obscures my identity and anything that could actively reveal it, even from you, so youcan't discern my true name, personal skills or Noble Phantasms, including the one keeping my secrets. People will not be able to gleam my identity unless I forego secrecy," she explained.

"Uhm... Hermione's lessons didn't go that far. What is a Noble Phantasm, exactly?" Harry asked, discreetly looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to them, before pulling out his wand and discreetly using a Sirius-approved privacy charm. That man and the magic mirror he had given Harry came in seriously handy at times.

"To make a long story short, a Noble Phantasm is a servant's ultimate trump card, or one of them at any rate. There are other details that would explain it much more, but for our intents and purposes, they are irrelevant, and all you need to know is that, usually, witnessing a Noble Phantasm's usage is enough to ascertain a servant's identity, even if you don't recognize its form - Noble Phantasms are Voice Activated."

"So it's something that is very tightly tied to a servant's legend, then?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much, yes," Saber confirmed.

"So, if a Servant were to, say, spontaneously shout 'Excalibur', we'd immediately know it's King Arthur," Harry mused, looking somewhat pensive.

He didn't miss the look of anger that passed Saber's eyes for an instant, nor the tension that suddenly filled the air. For an instant, she had let loose a torrent of hate and anger that far dwarfed any thing Harry had felt before, which left him quite unnerved, were he to be honest.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked, masking his worry as best as he could, trying to sound as if he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Saber shook her head. "No. It's nothing," she said, crossing her arms, ignoring the slight squeak as the new leather reacted to the movement. She discreetly sniffed at it. Harry couldn't blame her, knowing that he himself would be reveling in new clothes if he could right now.

"Okay. You want anything? I'm going to the bar," Harry said.

Saber seemed to fall into thought for a second.

Harry thought she was indecisive. A picky eater? Odd, but... if she was a knight, she probably had a refined palate or something.

She didn't know what to order, as she didn't know what drinks or food the pub offered.

Harry explained that the small pub didn't have much in the way of food, and it offered several varieties of the Wizards' drinks of choice, Butterbeer (both non and alcoholic) as well as Firewhiskey (only alcoholic, though). So Harry just bought enough butterbeer and chips for himself and Ron Weasley, figuring that it was better to overkill than to not bring enough.

Saber liked Butterbeer, it seemed, and inhaled the chips faster than Harry could eat more than a few, demanding more. "We'll have lunch later," Harry said, placating her.

After being fed and watered, or, rather, after Saber got fed and watered, as she had also managed to drink half of Harry's butterbeer, they once more set out to continue exploring Hogsmeade. Coming across another shop that sold muggle attire, Saber insisted that Harry change his dreadful clothing for something more proper of the man... well, boy... that was to be her master. While Harry often thought that doing so would be rubbing his money on Ron's face, right now he cared more about keeping his servant content than he did about keeping Ron content. An angry Ron he could handle, but if Saber refused to cooperate, it was likely their chances of surviving the tournament would be shot to hell.

Harry entered the shop wearing Dudley's cast offs beneath bulky robes, with his identity concealed, but left it wearing new clothes. Saber had insisted on a leather jacket similar to hers, but Harry drew the line and instead bought a trenchcoat. At least he could make it pass for unorthodox robes in a pinch, and he thought it looked cool. Saber disagreed, but he wasn't listening to her anyway.

Still, he had stopped wearing baggy pants for the first time in his life and found out what it was like to have clothes that actually fit him, besides his Weasley Jumper, and weren't hindering his movement. It was... odd, but not something he disliked. He had originally wanted to get a suit, half-remembering a James Bond movie he may or may not have seen, but Saber shot him down saying that, short and scrawny as he was, he'd just look silly in it. Admittedly, she'd said the same about the trenchcoat, but it was an acceptable sustitute for robes as casual wear, and Harry decided it was a good compromise between looking good and being practical, any evidence to the contrary on either end be damned.

He'd also wanted her to get something like that, but again, she'd refused.

Well, if nothing else, her choice of attire got every eye focused on her very well defined bum as she walked next to him, so even if he hadn't been wearing the (new and properly sized) wizard hat that covered his scar and hair, he doubted people would even notice him anyway.

It seemed that even something like that had its uses.

Well, his day off seemed to be going well.

So it was only fitting that it go to hell right about then.

A tingle passed through Harry's back. "Did you-"

"-feel that?" Saber asked. "Yes. There's a master, and possibly a servant, watching us."

"Should we..." Harry began.

"They should've identified us by now. It'd be pointless to have you hide now. We'll lure them to a place I can fight better in. This servant seems to be a sneaky one, and a cramped space would probably give them an advantage," Saber commented, and only then did Harry notice she hadn't actually been moving her lips, instead directly communicating the information into his brain.

Weaving through the thin crowd that walked Hogsmeade every day, Harry and Saber steeled their nerves, as they knew that the confrontation with another servant was fast approaching.

For some reason, Harry found himself almost... excited. A quick look showed excitement building on Saber, as well. She seemed to like battles.

Another piece in the puzzle, huh?

He suppressed the feeling ruthlessly, and found himself strangely cold and calm. Battle was coming, and he'd be ready for it.

* * *

Woot. That's another chapter done. Hm. Hm. Hm. This should make it further obvious who Saber is. Her Noble Phantasm should be ridiculously clear as an indicator, and by now, probably the only person who doesn't know is Harry. This should dispell all doubts about the possibility of yaoi between Harry and his servant. Sorry, fangirls, but I yank enough chains with Naruto and Sasuke in Expendable Heroes already.

And yes, it DOES really work even if she's not actually wearing the Helm. It... does not make a whole lot of sense, and works on arbitrary videogame rules. Like the rest of the Nasuverse. Incidentally, that actually is one of the things I find most entertaining when I'm doing something with the Nasuverse, such as the Servants Who Should Not Be Summoned segments I do for Overmaster's compilation (which you should all check out, by the way, as they're bloody hilarious).

Now, those who know who Saber is, might notice that her stats are a bit different. That's intentional. While not quite a 'XBOXHUEG' increase like the one Kazikli Voivoda most likely got, it IS noticeable. For the record, it's not just her stats that get differences. Thing is, she's an already overpowered servant (like King Arthur) getting a further boost.

By the same token, Arturia's stats would get boosted to values so high that the idea of beating her in a Grail War held in Hogwarts is, at best, laughable, much as it'd be if, say, Berserker had been summoned in Greece, El Cid in Spain or Jeanne D'Arc in France. Of course, stats aren't everything, and though this Saber's stats are superior to Arturia's when she was summoned by Kiritsugu, I'd still bet on Arturia, and there'd be no contest if both were summoned for this Grail War.

(Incidentally, anyone wants an omake where Arturia is summoned as Lancer with Rhongomyniad? That'd be fun...)


	4. DODGE!

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**DODGE**

* * *

Master and servant didn't run, or even hurry. In fact, Saber sent Harry a mental command to try to pretend to be as casual as possible. Still, Saber reduced the distance between them, pretending to be far more affectionate than she truly was. This made them look like a pair of teenagers out on a date. Or rather, Harry looked like a teenager who'd just hired a whore, given the look Saber had chosen for herself. Still, the closeness gave Harry an excuse to whisper to her.

"Thoughts?" Harry asked, attempting to maintain as level a voice as possible, calming his emotions.

Saber hummed. "The presence is weak - distant," she told him through their telepathic link.

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Do you think this might be an attempt to lead us into a trap?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and leaning in to whisper directly at her ear.

Saber didn't look particularly affected. It seemed her brain was entirely focused on the battle. Good to know. "I don't think. I know," she said. "I'm tripping it on purpose. If the opponent has set up an unavoidable ambush, our best bet is to enter it prepared, and turn it around."

Harry frowned. "Doesn't sound like sound advice," he replied.

"Depends on the circumstances and situation. In this case, it is a pretty solid bet. I have confidence in my ability to protect you from any servant, and my Prana reserves are almost entirely full," Saber spoke, her voice sure and certain, so much so that Harry was almost infected by it, almost pumped to see his servant fight with their stalkers.

It took a few minutes for them to find an open enough space in which they could see an approach from any given side. It was a simple plaza. Harry would've thought that any given green space in Hogsmeade would've boasted a variety of magical plants, but this one was... very mundane. It was relatively small, barely around the size of the park close to his relatives' home at Surrey, which was basically just a playground for children and a small space for people to take their pets or dates to.

It was enough.

"The killing intent is focused. Ready yourself, Master," Saber commanded imperiously, as her armour set, turning her from a slip of a girl into a fearsome mass of iron in sparkling silver and red, a sword more dazzling than the greatest silver already appearing in her hand. She took no stance, instead remaining open, almost as if inviting attack. A simple tactic that presented a more tempting target so as to provide an additional layer of defense towards the person she was protecting.

Harry didn't think it'd work.

And he was right, as Saber quickly had to snap into action, her sword flashing and rapidly cutting the path of a projectile that would've pierced straight through Harry's left eyeball and gone into his brain. Saber's sword snapped into action once more, and she quickly slashed the air to stop a second one, this one heading towards her throat. Saber's instincts had forced her to stop the projectile, but Harry doubted it would pierce through the mass of steel that was her helm. A third arrow was stopped by her free hand snapping into action and grabbing onto the shaft just before it touched her helm's temple.

"Tch!" Harry clicked his tongue, forcing back the need to moan in pain. He'd reacted almost without thinking, violently jerking his body to the side, and had barely prevented an arrow from skewering him through the mouth. Instead, it had just grazed his cheek. Saber seemed to be offended as she found out she had failed, though still her instincts made her react and block the next three arrows.

"This one's an Archer, definitely," Saber told him through their telepathic link. "Behind me, now," she commanded.

Harry didn't have to be told twice, but as soon as he stood behind Saber from where the arrows were coming from, his instincts screamed at him to hit the ground, and so he did. He felt another arrow, this one gracing the top of his head and cutting off some hairs, that harmlessly impacted the back of Saber's plated torso.

"Another!?" Saber nearly yelled. "No... Right, moving," she said, and without regard for what it seemed, she quickly grabbed the back of Harry's trenchcoat's collar, admitting that the tough material made this possible, and began to sprint, dragging Harry behind her. Three more arrows hit the space they'd just fled, and Harry felt gratitude feeling him as the servant ran like crazy.

It didn't take long after Saber began her run for the arrows she continued to block with her sword to stop coming, as if the objective had been accomplished. The killer intent retreated, and Saber finally set Harry to rest, as both walked into the first shop they found - a store that sold candy, incidentally. Honeydukes'. Still, they both took a moment to regain their breaths.

"This did not go well," Harry said, rubbing the tender spot where the small cut on his cheek was. He removed his hand and looked at the blood. Then he ran a hand through his hair. The wound on top of his head was slightly deeper. "Neither is worrying, but..."

"Too close," Saber agreed. "Your instincts are superb, Master, though your reaction speed leaves much to be desired," she added, as if Harry hadn't just escaped from the arrows of a servant by the skin of his teeth.

Harry found that he wasn't regaining his breath when he tried to give her a reply. "Damn..." he said, in between pants, and then he fell to the floor. "I just noticed," he stopped to pant a little, "I lost my new hat," he added, shaking his head a little. His vision was swimming. He knew he wasn't in perfect shape, but Wood made him practice Quidditch so much that he had put on a little muscle, and against all logic or common sense, flying actually did increase his stamina and tax him something fierce.

That he'd been a runner since Dudley's Harry Hunting days also helped.

So why was he finding it so exhausting to run a hundred or two metres in a mad dash to get away from lethal danger? Was it the adrenaline leaving his system?

Harry took a deep, stabilizing breath, and shook his head some more. The nausea wouldn't disappear, and it made it hard to hear Saber's voice, as if it was distant.

"Master?" Saber asked, something akin to worry being noticeable. "You're not in THIS bad a shape..."

"It might be all the killer intent. Not common for me," Harry noted, as his heart reduced its pace to an acceptable one and his lungs stopped failing to work properly. He still felt a little light headed, but it wasn't about to knock him out any more. He shook his head again, but it seemed the last dregs of it wouldn't go away. "So... what did we learn today?"

"Should I cross Archer, I will spread his guts on the sidewalk," Saber said, anger changing her tone to a nearly furious one.

"Aren't you kind of going to do that to all the other servants if you get the chance?" Harry asked, dryly. "Besides, how are you so sure it's a male Archer?"

"That's beside the point," Saber stated, calming down significantly. "Archer has injured my pride, and this cannot stand. As for why I'm sure? I'm not," Saber said, "call it intuition."

She just made the jokes about womanhood plainly too easy. So much so that it wasn't worth taking advantage of them, considering it'd sour his relationship with her. "Anything other than Archer's class?"

"It's a servant that is good at subversion, most likely, and unorthodox combat. Still, Archer showed unwillingness to initiate combat in a populated area, which suggests he is not ruthless, but merely pragmatic."

Harry nodded. "Now, the enemy servant probably knows your class... What are the possibilities they might guess your identity from your sword?"

"Nil," Saber said. For an instant, her armor shimmered, then faded from existence, "I haven't 'removed' my helm properly, and as such, even if they could recognize my sword on sigh without it, they can't make the connection so long as I wear it."

"Right," Harry said, "I almost feared that it it was limited just to scrying," he said, cracking his neck. "So the only information we gave is that you're Saber and skilled enough to deflect an Archer's ranged attacks. We're not in dire straits," Harry said, sighing. "I guess our shopping trip was ruined, though."

"Not quite yet. We are in a shop, aren't we? Might as well buy something before heading out."

Harry could almost hear his wallet begging for mercy.

* * *

"Hello, Harry," said a calm voice that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

He knew that kind of calm. It was the calm of the gray sky that preceded a storm. A storm called Hermione Granger, that was about to explode with barely restrained curiosity, anxiety and, Harry hoped, some concern for him thrown in as well. "Uhm. Hi, Hermione," Harry tried.

Hermione tapped her foot on Hogwarts' Great Hall's stone floor. "When were you planning on telling me you were in another mess?"

"To be fair to me, I only got into this yesterday, and today's been kinda hectic for me," Harry mentioned, scratching the back of his neck.

"And this is your servant, I imagine?" Hermione asked, turning to regard the skimpily dressed Saber. "... Okay, I can say I didn't expect a Heroic Spirit of legend to dress like... this."

Saber smiled. "Problem?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I suppose not," Hermione said, sounding somewhat offended. "Still, you're going to be around children, and I hardly think that it's appropriate-"

"What you think doesn't really matter to me," Saber said, bluntly, "and I am going to engage in terribly violent fights to the death with the six other servants. If you are honestly more worried in me showing a bit of skin than that... well, your priorities just might be horribly skewed," she added, keeping a level and controlled tone that spoke of a wicked tongue.

"You've got a point," Hermione admitted, "and I'm not here to discuss your attire, anyway! Harry, honestly!"

"What? I didn't get involved into this willingly!" Harry said, gesturing towards the Command Seals hidden below his robe's sleeve.

"You were in a fight, weren't you?" Hermione said, her hand shooting forward and cupping Harry's chin, while her thumb went to trace the wound on Harry's left cheek. "Hm... you've got some blood on you," she said, and used her left hand to pull her wand out of her robe's pocket. With a swish and a flick, she conjured a napkin into her hand, which she used to rub the blood off him. Then she looked at his forehead, and noticed some dripping from his hairline. "What did you do, dunk your head in a bucket? It's all over your hair," she admonished. "You're gonna have to shower before firsties see you all bloody..."

"Eh. It could've been a worse mess," Harry said, "could've been my brain splattered all over Saber's back," he said.

"... Can I know your identity?" Hermione asked, entirely out of the blue. "It's just, there are so many things that the heroes from legend could teach us! The truth behind events that have been altered or changed by imperfect translation, bias and deliberate alterations! Knowledge from times long gone! So much that-"

"No," Saber replied, coldly.

"Security risk, Hermione. Even I can't know Saber's name, and the Master is supposed to know the servant's identity. But neither of us knows Occlumency, so even if you were to promise not to tell anyone, the other six Masters could pluck the information out of your head, same as mine," Harry said, shrugging.

Hermione frowned, and didn't seem very convinced. "I guess," she relented nonetheless, possibly to give herself time to think up a more airtight argument. "By the way, while you were out, an announcement was made that was heard all over Hogwarts. Tonight, during Dinner, Dumbledore will make an important announcement regarding the Grail Tournament. Now that I know what your absence from Gryffindor Tower last night and where you were today, this is probably more important to you than I thought it was."

"Thank you," Harry said, smiling at her, causing her to smile in return.

"No problem, Harry. Though... One of your roommates... Finnegan, I think he was... was complaining about someone stealing his pointy wizard hat. Didn't even know others bought those," she said, wondering why she'd bought hers considering it was almost never used, tradition was tradition she supposed, "but you wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

"Guilty as charged. I actually bought a new one and I was gonna return this one," Harry said, pulling out the hat that a helpful store clerk had shrunk for him, along with a set of tiny Hogwarts robes and resized castoffs. "But I lost my new hat. By the way, what do you think?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the trenchcoat that covered his body.

"I think you're trying way too hard to be cool, Harry," Hermione said.

"See? It's not just me!" Saber commented, from the sidelines.

"Neither of you has taste," Harry sniped back, crossing his arms.

"Harry, only an idiot would think a trenchcoat automatically makes you look good no matter what-"

Ron Weasley had chosen that moment to appear before the trio. "Hey, guys! Oh, wow, Harry, those are some really cool clothes!" he commented.

"I rest my case," Hermione said.

"What? What did I do?" Ron asked, perplexed. "And hey, who's the cute girl with you?"

Perhaps, had Ron not been somewhat perplexed still by the conversation he'd just wandered into and Hermione's response to his intrusion, he might've rethought just spontaneously acknowledging the fact that Harry was flanked by a petite blonde wearing what could only be described as hooker wear. While her chest, flat as it was, didn't do much for him, Ron Weasley could say he liked bums just as well, and this girl's was fantastic.

As it was, he didn't understand why she turned to glare, venomously, at him, and opened her mouth to say something, but Harry put a hand over the tantalizingly soft looking skin of her shoulder, and she turned her gaze at him.

Harry shook his head, and the servant seemed to scoff, before turning her attention away from Ron.

"Well, Ron, what do you know about the Grail Tournament?" Harry asked.

* * *

Ron whistled. "It could only be you, mate," he said, and Harry knew that Ron meant it. While the redhead had a very easily excitable temper and more often than not a problem with the fact that he was less than economically fortunate (though Harry considered Ron immensely lucky, as he had a very loving family), which lead him to once or twice acting out of embarrassment or shame when put next to the wealthy Boy Who Lived, as well as an inferiority complex that had made him act out against Hermione on occassion, when he felt she was showing off or purposely showing him up, there was one trait about Ron Weasley that Harry could honestly say he had pegged.

Ron was the opposite of a fairweather friend. His issues lead to him feeling inadequate and inferior when the tidings were good, but if you were in a major fix, then Ron Weasley would have your back. It was odd, to remember how bummed out he'd been when he'd found out that the gold used to repay Harry for the omnioculars Harry had bought him had been Leprechaun Gold, and even worse, to find out that Harry hadn't even noticed the difference, and then see him so willing to stand by Harry after finding out his best friend was entered into a possibly lethal competition.

Of course, the redhead was also the kind of person to walk into a nest of Acromantula when his worst fear was spiders, in order to aid a friend in need, which somewhat confused Harry.

Still, all that mattered was that Ron had Harry's back, and all was well with the world.

Some might've wondered why Harry was not surprised at Hermione's display of loyalty, when she hadn't even wavered herself... but Harry hadn't ever felt the slightest wavering in his faith in Hermione's loyalty. To him, the idea of Hermione betraying him like that was simply unthinkable. While Ron had shown that he could be overcome by his issues, Hermione had not, and as such, Harry blindly trusted her.

Saber remarked it might very well become a weakness to trust someone to the extent he'd gladly show her his unprotected back, but Harry simply remarked that he didn't want to live in a world where he could trust no one to watch his back, and that a life spent waiting for the knife to dig into your back was not a life worth living, in his opinion. After all, how could you truly live when you can't allow yourself to relax and enjoy life?

Still, the trio plus Servant discussed the Grail War until lunchtime, where Ron attempted, and failed, to keep up with Saber's rate of food inhalation. While she was making herself plainly visible to the other six masters, she had chosen a seat far away from Harry's, from where she could keep an eye on him, of course, but where she wouldn't immediately be linked to him. While the fact that the Master of Saber was a Gryffindor would be plainly obvious, who of the ninety boys in Gryffindor specificaly was the Master would be a little harder to discover. While the other masters weren't supposed to be in Hogwarts yet, they'd been attacked by a servant that very day, and Saber confirmed that it'd been Assassin who had provoked Harry's summoning of Saber to begin with.

And both of them very much doubted that both masters remained very far from their servants. So it was likely they already were in Hogwarts. Worse still, both already knew Harry's identity and the fact that he was the Master of Saber.

Still, secrecy had to be maintained, if nothing else then because the other four might also be present.

Lunch passed without issue, and Saber was forced to dematerialize to accompany her Master. There was such ambient power in Hogwarts that she was unlikely, at best, to be picked up from the castle's interference, so there was no issue to her following after her master, as she would not be a beacon to have others home in to his presence.

Dinner came soon enough, after an uneventful day.

And then finally, it was time for Dumbledore's announcement.

An odd thing to do, but still, the whole castle was gathered for dinner.

"Tonight, marks the official start of the Holy Grail Tournament, as hosted by Hogwarts in this iteration. All seven servants have already been summoned and registered with the Moderator, that is to say, myself, and the controller, Servant Ruler," he began, and as soon as he pronounced his name, the handsome man that Harry remembered appeared next to Dumbledore, raising a hand and waving it. His robes this time seemed more similar to the Headmaster's, all bright colours, though not as clashing as Dumbledore's garish pink and white robes. "Thus, it falls to me to announce that we shall be receiving the delegations from the foreign schools whose representants shall participate in this most sacred of rituals will be arriving just before dinnertime, tomorrow. As such, visits to Hogsmeade for Sunday shall be suspended. In an effort to maintain the privacy, and thus safety, of the Masters who shall take part, an entire delegation of each school shall arrive instead of just the Master. For the year, they shall join the Seventh Year students in their classes, though they will have separate classes for the parts of the curriculum we don't share, and will be excused from that which they don't share with us. While here, all of them shall be expected to follow Hogwarts' rules and code of conduct, but so shall ourselves. That, is all, and you may now return to your meals."

"That was... surprisingly serious and void of his usual flair," Hermione commented. "He has not treated lightly anything with regards to the Holy Grail Tournament."

"When even Dumbledore fails to make light of it..." Ron said, a shiver almost rushing through his spine, "man, I'm glad I wasn't crazy enough to enter myself," he remarked.

Hermione nodded. "Lucky you weren't picked anyway..."

That comment caused Harry to roll his eyes.

At the whole exchange, Saber sent amused thoughts to his head, though her opinions were unwelcome. Still, she seemed happy enough that the battle was beginning in earnest, while Harry himself couldn't wait for it to end. The exhaustion from the day had caught up to him, and all he wanted to do was crawl to his four poster and sleep... all the way until he remembered about his private room, and was forced to part with a half assed explanation, heading to the room.

At least he was more comfortable sleeping with Saber on his bed now that he knew her gender for certain.

Upon entering the private room (which Harry was certain hadn't been on the fourth floor last time), however, he actually got a shock when his servant suddenly materialized. He was almost taken aback by the way in which she quickly eliminated distance between them.

"I need to recover the Prana I expended today, since starting a day on less than full reserves is an intolerable handicap," she said, simply, and grabbed his chin before planting her lips on his. Her soft lips distracted him for a second, before he felt the transfer of magical energy. Now that he knew she was a girl... why did it still feel awkward and somewhat uncomfortable?

Still, he let her share his bed, even though the room clearly had one for her to sleep in, now that he paid a closer look.

He liked sharing warmth with another.

* * *

Wow. That's another one done. To be frank, this one felt... kind of underwhelming. But fact is, this is the way a confrontation between that set of servants would go. Harry got off lucky on this one... or did he? We shall see for certain next chapter.

Also, next chapter, finally we get to see the delegations from the other participants.

As such, here's some information on the world:

As Fudge stated, six of the participants represent an organization.

The delegations from the canonical Goblet of Fire are easy enough, right?

However, there are others involved.

So, there shall be a delegation coming from Salem, which should be self explanatory. Salem is girls-only, the biggest magical school in the United States of America. That is pretty much it, any further exploration will be done through the representative's character data, but for the most part, it's not dissimilar from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang.

The ones that become unique are the other two, the Vatican and the ICW, and as such, I will try to give some minimal explanation so that you're not caught as off guard by it as Harry will be.

The Vatican, in this world, has its own magical school. They believe magic to be a gift from God, and as such, study it from a religious standpoint. There really isn't that much difference, it's basically the same as comparing a non-catholic with a catholic school. A special occupation one can accede when trained by the Vatican is to be employed directly to the church, dealing, specifically, with the threat of the undead in all their shapes. When vampires step out of line or when Wizards delve too deep into necromancy, the Church will usually dispatch its Executors to see to the end of the problem.

The ICW does not possess a school, per se, but they do have an organism that trains their peacekeeper forces, which are the reason Voldemort never attempted outright war with the whole wide world the way Grindelwald did. Grindelwald had actually been the head of the ICW's Peacekeeper Corps before becoming a Dark Lord, and subverted a great deal of their number when he turned. As a side note, the title of 'Supreme Mugwump' was originally given to the leader of the Peacekeeper Corps.

So, essentially, the Vatican is the Nasuverse's Church, while the ICW is the Mages' Association, and the Peacekeepers its Enforcers. Hope that clears up your doubts.


	5. Intercontinental Gathering: The Magic

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Intercontinental Gathering: The Magic**

* * *

A face identical to his stared.

Green eyes met green.

"... F-Father-"

The dying whisper could never be finished.

* * *

Harry blinked. Saber was drooling on his chest.

"Huh. Well, I had to take a shower after last night anyway," Harry commented.

The blonde pouted in her sleep as Harry began to work on disentangling himself from her. It almost, keyword there, managed to make him rethink.

Clearly, Harry would have to petition for the ability to keep this run. It had a hot tub, and nothing beats resting out the aches of his body in a hot tub that also massaged him. "Oh. Nice," Saber commented.

In an instant, she was undressed, and joining him in the tub.

"Saber..." Harry's voice was tense, as he was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Saber asked, as she stretched for a minute before relaxing again. "This tub is great!" she crowed.

Well, she wouldn't have had such a thing in the time she lived in. It was only to be expected that she'd take advantage of them where she could find them, and in their shared room, there were many things that one could call 'luxuries'. Hogwarts went out of its way to accomodate the Grail Tournament's participants, which admittedly, Harry was still thankful for. Even if Saber was looking at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I would've liked if I could have some privacy, you know?"

Mostly because, whether she identified more as a male than a female or not, Saber was still attractive and while Harry would tell her straight to her face that he wasn't attracted to her, his body still reacted to the wet, naked female in front of him. That, and the adrenaline rushes that had plagued the recent days combined with the physical proximity with Saber in bed had left him with a very, very annoying problem. Blood rushed to that problem, at that very moment, in response to Saber continuing to stretch as if to get rid of phantom pains and aches, showing her creamy, flawless skin, the smooth curve of her back as it led to the fantastic bum that could only be sculpted, for no one could have something like that naturally.

The servant finally faced him again. "Oh, that? Right, you're an adolescent, aren't you? New concept to me," Saber noted. She was most likely from a time where children stopped being children and were immediately treated as adults, without an 'adolescence' period, as it was today. "So you were gonna rub one out? Don't let me interrupt you. Go ahead, I don't mind."

Harry's thoughts came to a crashing halt. "The hell!?" he asked.

"It's not like it's anything new to me," Saber said, shrugging. Considering Harry could plainly see that she lacked a penis, Harry doubted that the act of male masturbation was old hat to her.

"Is privacy also a new concept to you? Just because you're my servant doesn't mean I want to do it in front of you!" much less so considering she was also one of the images he'd use to get off. Sure, he would feel horribly awkward and uncomfortable immediately afterwards, but at the moment he was thinking with his other head, and his other head simply thought Saber an attractive member of his species of the opposite gender.

"I have to protect you at all times. That, and I'm not going to leave this tub until I absolutely have to. This just feels amazing," Saber said, shrugging.

Harry almost felt like hitting his head against the edge of the tub. "That's going to be totally awkward!" Harry said, frowning, "just leave me to my business, okay?"

Saber scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Being sexually frustrated will negatively affect your mood and concentration, so it will be a detriment to both our relationship and as a result to our performance in the Tournament," Saber commented, leaning back and resting her back in the tub wall opposite the one Harry was seated against.

"Right! So leave me to it! I just need five minutes!" Harry stated, frowning further.

The servant smirked.

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, even though he was surrounded by warmth. That smile was pure evil.

* * *

Hermione met up with Harry at lunch.

"Harry? Do you have a fever?"

However, her best friend didn't reply, and just walked off with his head hanging.

* * *

It wasn't long before the time for dinner approached, and Hermione had not managed to pry Harry open to discover what it was that had his face flushed so much nearly the entirety of the day, but finally, the time had arrived for the delegations from the other schools, the church and the ICW to arrive. Harry was feeling anxious. He knew that there were servants in Hogwarts already. Two, at least. Which meant that at least one of them was likely to be from the Master representing Hogwarts. But what if it wasn't?

If it was, then why would they attack him out of the blue?

Possibly, because he was simply there, in case of Archer. But the other one, that could only be Assassin, that one had been gunning for him specifically because of the orders of the servant's master. There was only one explanation. Harry was, in some way, shape or form, being targetted by a master, and managed to save himself through fluke.

Again.

This meant that Assassin's master was either a Death Eater or close to one. It could very well be any of the Slytherin students. Almost all of them had ties to known or suspected Death Eaters, and it was harder to find one that didn't lead to a parent or other close relation with a Dark Mark. So it was likely Assassin's master was the Hogwarts master. Or it could simply be a foreign Death Eater. There were plenty of those, as well.

Ah, everything was so confusing! Harry felt an ethereal hand land on his shoulder, and he instantaneously went beet red as he remembered what had happened earlier that day. He quickly shook his head.

"Calm, Master," Saber commented to him through their telepathic link. "We'll deal with that as it comes. For the moment, let's just observe. The other two servants are most likely present right now."

There was no killer intent directed towards him at the moment. That was no guarantee of anything, of course, particularly with the invisible Assassin, which they wouldn't feel until it was already too late, but Harry knew that he would probably snap if he was stressing himself at the same time someone was actively trying to further demoralize him.

"Hey! There's something that way!" someone shouted, and everyone turned in one direction, roughly to the southeast. Indeed, there was something visible as a speck in the distance, that was getting closer by the second.

"What is it? I bet it's a flying ship!" someone said, excitedly.

"Nah, it's probably a train like the Express!"

Saber seemed amused. "Or it could be a set of carriages pulled by winged horses. Anthraxians was it? No, no, that's a species of Vorpal Rabbits... Hm... Abraxians. Yes, Abraxians," she declared. Harry decided not to comment on it. Servant eyesight seemed quite a bit superior to human eyesight. It was only logical, Harry supposed, since the weakest servant is most likely leagues above the usual man, it'd only make sense that they also have superior senses, including sight.

"Abraxians are native to France, aren't they Hermione?" Harry asked, knowing that Hermione was behind him and to the left, just short of bumping into the ethereal servant behind Harry. Well, if she could even bump into Saber, anyway, which she couldn't, so it was a moot point.

"Yes," Hermione mentioned.

"Well, that's the French, then."

And indeed, it was. Soon enough, the French contingent landed and disembarked, a woman as tall as Hagrid (and maybe even a little taller), probably the Headmistress, lead her students out of the carriages. They were quickly hit with warming charms, as they were slightly early and would have to wait in the cold of Scotland, which they definitely had not come prepared for, for the others. The Beauxbatons students took formation and joined the Hogwarts students in waiting.

"Master. Behind the Headmistress. There's the French Master," Saber said. "She's not even attempting to hide it. I can feel her servant behind her, and they can probably feel me behind you."

Harry nodded. "I guessed," Harry said.

"Hm?" Saber seemed interested in how Harry had arrived to the same conclusion she had. She knew his senses were not as good at sensing servants and masters as hers were, simply because he was not nearly done with his training as a wizard unlike the others.

"Preferential treatment," Harry mentioned, "when she walked down, several of the boys scrambled to assist her. Furthermore, the Headmistress made it a point to always remain between her and us. Plus, she's the only one wearing gloves. Either she is the only one smart enough to prepare for Scotland cold, or she's hiding her command seals more thoroughly than I'm hiding mine."

And that is to say, he simply wasn't. Harry's command seals would be plainly visible if someone removed his sleeve.

Not long after, the contingent from the United States arrived. Turned out that someone's prediction of a flying steam engine had been fulfilled. However, it wasn't like the Express. The Salem Express, as Harry had dubbed it in his mind, was not colored extravagantly as the Hogwarts express was... and could fly. That already made it pretty different from the Hogwarts express.

The Headmistress from Salem was a gravely looking woman who seemed only slightly younger than Dumbledore, and who had burn scars covering the left side of her face. Harry thought she might have been pretty at one point. Still, despite the scowl in her face that had been nearly permanent since the moment she arrived, she clearly cared very much for her students, as she offered each of them a smile and help in getting off the train. Once they were off, the train set off, and was quickly lost in the distance.

The woman produced a walking cane out of somewhere and went to take formation, much like Beauxbatons, and same as Beauxbatons' headmistress, she stood in front of her contingent.

Harry noticed that Dumbledore was standing in a similar way, as Hogwarts' students guarded the gate.

With a frown, he wondered... there were six contingents that were supposed to be here. So it'd most likely form a hexagon.

His theory was proven correct as soon after the contingent of Durmstrang arrived, as an old derelict boat, sinister and creepy like nothing else, burst out of the Black Lake, suspiciously dry. Harry wasn't even sure that was possible. You learn something new about magic every moment, it seems. Soon enough, they lowered a ramp, at the same time that the water finally came down, cloaking the Durmstrang students in ice cold rain as they walked down, headed by a grim and severe looking man.

Harry had to admit... the effect was pretty damn awesome.

The boat faded to the depths of the lake as they took formation, adding another side to the forming Hexagon. Harry noted that the Durmstrang students were solely males. Well, if there was an all-girls school, it only made sense for there to be an all-boys school, too.

By comparison, the ICW's contingent arrived with very little in the way of fanfare. Instead of any great and fancy way of arriving all together, they instead all appeared at once, summoned by... something. Still, the effect was pretty cool, even if simplistic, and the fact that they all arrived perfectly in formation, well, that was only further improving the atmosphere of a military school that their short hair and practical, fatigue-like robes suggested. At the forefront of the contingent, a large man whose face seemed to be covered in scars took protagonism. He was probably something closer to a commander than a Headmaster, Harry guessed.

The last to arrive was the Church. And by far, they were the ones that caused the most impact on Harry. Specifically, their leader seemed to be the... most intimidating. Harry didn't know why, he didn't LOOK particularly more intimidating than any of the others, and was, in fact, even smiling as he walked. But he just gave off an air of being a powerful and dangerous person. Harry felt vindicated when he saw the church's contingent all wearing habits that were very similar to the trenchcoat Harry had bought. He noticed that they would most likely be very practical in combat and allow for freedom in movement. Still, their arrival was much like the ICW's, except that the first to appear was the head, calmly walking forward with his hands clasped behind his back, getting a few steps in before his students began pouring in behind him.

Despite everything, these last two were the smallest of the contingents, though the ICW moreso.

Truly, the church was no more pacifistic than any other of the schools gathered today, Harry surmised, as his eyes scanned. Unlike the Beauxbatons master, the others hadn't revealed themselves. Harry thought that at this point, hiding might as well be pointless. He didn't know who already knew him and it was fair to assume all of them did. It wouldn't be hard to guess that Harry Potter would be a master.

After all, he could do no less than that, could he? Couldn't prove Snape wrong about being involved with everything interesting at Hogwarts...

* * *

Soooooo... SHORT CHAPTER!

But in return, here's something for y'all! Because nothing that has to do with the Nasuverse is ever complete without the Tiger Dojo! Or some variation of it that hopefully won't involve Fujimura Taiga jumping out of my screen to beat me half to death with Torashinai. I've heard that can happen if you abuse your author privilege to call her Tiger too many times.

Anyhow, here it is!

_I am the Omake of my Fic_

_Fun is my purpose, crack is my blood_

_I have created over a thousand ends_

_Unknown to Good, nor known to True_

_Have withstood pain to finalize many games_

_Yet those hands will never beat anything_

_So, as I fail, UNLIMITED BAD END WORKS!_

* * *

Bad Ending Number 1: Run, you moron!

What if, instead of Running, Harry had tried to fight Assassin?

Well, Assassin just killed him instantly instead of attempting to choke him. Bad End!

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stopped the film he was watching. "Well, that didn't take very long," he said to himself. "Now now, I suppose I must introduce myself, and this corner! Why, I have now taken the reins of the illustrious institution known as the Tiger Dojo! Hereby, it shall be renamed into the Dumbledojo!" he declared, sweeping his arms grandly as he looked at the player. "And to assist me in this endeavor, as I've been told it's customary for the oddball to have a cute loli sidekick, I shall introduce to you, Beauxbatons' Most Adorable Student for two years running, Gabrielle Delacour!"

A little girl in blue robes appeared on scene, waving her hands over her head. "Hello everyon- Wait, when did I learn English?" she asked, suddenly more shocked than anything else.

"Hush now! That's not the kind of question we're here to answer!" Dumbledore stage-whispered. Then he cleared his throat and pulled out his wand, waving it over Gabrielle. Her blue robes instantaneously turned into a white shirt and light blue bloomers.

She let out a loud cry of excitement as the clothes rearranged themselves while she still wore them. "Hey! This looks like that outfit I saw Fleur wearing once when she brought her boyfriend home that week and-"

"The audience does not need to know that! Besides, that's offscreen, so it's not canon," Dumbledore said.

"Oh. Right. Sorry!" Gabrielle apologized.

"Anyway! From this point forwards, please make many mistakes, so that we can get more and more screentime!" Dumbledore said.

"Actually, the script said that they had to express approval through reviews," Gabrielle commented. "And something about a school swimsuit, but I don't know what that means."

"Oh, you will, don't worry," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, everyone knows that in this story, everyone's is over eighteen years old, or whatever the age of consent in your area is, or we could get arrested."

"Really? What about the people who deliberately aren't that old?" Gabrielle asked.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Everyone is over the age of consent. Especially if they aren't," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh... okay then, I guess it's okay!" Gabrielle said, smiling cheerfully.

"Ah, the blissful ignorance of youth," commented the old man. "Anyhow, we are here to address what Harry did wrong, and how he could have averted the gruesome end he was met with! And what, Gabrielle, could you say would be the mistake Harry made?"

"He tried to fight a Servant without his own watching his back!" Gabrielle said. "What, does he think he's Shirou or something?"

"Quite. That kind of bonehead move would've worked quite well for young Emiya, but in this case, young Harry is not quite that insane, or insanely lucky. Now that we know the problem, what would be the solution?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

"Hm... this one's hard..." Gabrielle said, tapping her chin, entering a thinking pose. "Oh, I know!" She said, suddenly jumping up. "Maybe he should run next time?"

"Indeed that is the correct answer!" Dumbledore said. "Now that you know that stupidity will lead to death, unlike in Fate/Stay Night, let us hope Young Harry meets many more gruesome ends."

"Isn't that kind of mean?" Gabrielle asked.

"Don't worry! Every time Young Harry dies, he is replaced with a fresh clone, and through the Kaleidoscope, the clone replaces the deceased Harry just at the moment he would take the choice that would lead to his death! It's like save-game systems, but more unwieldy."

"Ahhh... That doesn't really make it okay..." Gabrielle mumbled for a bit, crossing her arms.

"Oh well. Back to the show! Thank you for joining us for the Dumbledojo, everybody!"

* * *

Bad End Number 2: She's not bluffing.

Harry had just received confirmation that his Servant intended to kill him should he choose not to help her recharge her Prana. Still... she had to be bluffing.

"I don't want to do that," Harry said with startling finality.

Ruler slapped his forehead. "Well, this was a giant waste of time," he said, sighing, before disappearing from the room.

"I'll need a new master," Saber said, before a sword more dazzling than the most sterling of silvers appeared in her hand. Harry didn't live much longer.

* * *

"Hello everybody! Dumbledore again! And with me is my lovely sidekick, my apprentice Gabrielle Delacour!"

"Hi!" Gabrielle added, cheerfully waving.

"This one is pretty easily cut out," Dumbledore said. "Clearly, the lesson from last time hasn't sunk in. Tut tut, grandad is disappointed, Harry."

Gabrielle nodded. "If something tells you it's gonna kill you... it probably will. Best not to tempt fate, Harry," she said, in a sagely tone that belied wisdom despite her young age. That would've worked if the cue card didn't poke out from her tiny hand. "Seriously, don't," she added.

"Atta girl," Dumbledore said, patting her head, "Anyhow, now that we know the problem, we also know the solution, don't we?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Next time, when a being that is more powerful than you by a significant factor asks if you want to kiss her, say yes! Even if you don't know it's a cute girl!"

"Ah... I detect a hint of a master plan there," Dumbledore commented.

"No comment," Gabrielle said, blushing bright red. "Just because those bimbos are all more prominent than me, even in canon, doesn't mean I shouldn't get my day in the limelight!" she mumbled to herself. "I want my Harry time too!"

"Yes, yes, we all want our Harry time-" Dumbledore said, nodding before sharply cutting off.

"Wow," Gabrielle said, mouth hanging wide open.

"I realized the moment I said it," Dumbledore admitted, "though it's totally not what it sounds like."

"Wow. Just... just wow."

"Eheheh... well... Next time on the Tiger Dojo: Lawsuit!" Dumbledore said, nervously.

* * *

Bad End Number 3: Do not question your servant's manliness, for it is absolute.

"Saber, you are a girl!" Harry exclaimed in surprise.

"... Say that again and I will kill you. I dare you," Saber said.

Harry, without thinking, continued, "holy shit! You're a really cute gi-"

Saber strangled him shortly.

* * *

"Hiya everybody! Gabrielle here! Since Headmaster Dumbledore is busy deflecting Lawninja with his mad wizard skillz, I shall be taking the reins of today's Dumbledojo! Accompanied by the ever-so-lively Weasley Twins!"

Both twins waved at the camera. "Hello everybody! This is Gred!" one said, gesturing towards the brother on the left.

"And this is Forge!" the one on the left said, gesturing to the one on the right.

"And together, we are the Weasley Twin Terrors!" they finished, high fiving and chorusing.

"That needs more work," Gabrielle commented.

"You're mean, Gabby!" Forge said, gripping his heart. "We put our souls into that routine!"

"That we made up in five seconds," Gred added.

"But nevermind about that!" Forge said, getting back on track.

"Right," Gred said, nodding, "we're here for a reason!"

"Indeed!" Gabrielle said, stroking a very long, very white fake beard, on the style of Dumbledore's, that covered her white shirt entirely, and would've been useful as a skirt too. "We're here to carefully analyze what Harry did wrong, and how to avoid making the same mistake again!"

"Well, this is pretty clear, right Forge?" Forge asked.

Gred nodded. "Indeed, my not-so-smart brother Gred!"

At this, Gred blinked. "I thought I was the smart one and you the handsome one?"

"Well, I didn't say I was very smart either," Forge said, nodding.

"This is giving me a headache," Gabrielle said, holding her head. "Get on with it, please!"

"Yes, yes," Forge said, smiling. "What Harrykins did wrong here, is elementary,"

"My dear Gred," Gred mocked, "and that is... Seriously, don't antagonize the super strong servant. She's too close for you to get off a Command Seal in time, mate."

"Forge is correct! Saber has clear gender issues, and you've gotta respect her! You can work on making her open up to you to lead into the steamy sex scene later!" Forge spoke, grinning brilliantly.

Suddenly, the twins seemed to snap into motion, as if both had an eureka moment at the same time. "Steam? Sexiness? Are you thinking what I'm thinking, oh handsome brother of mine?"

"I think I'm thinking what you're thinking, oh smarter brother of mine, but how is a mutant gerbil going to help us conquer the world?"

"Ah, nevermind! Come! Harry's misadventures have given me inspiration! Forge's will shall not be denied!" Forge declared.

"Wait. I thought I was Forge?" Forge asked.

"... Oh, crap, I can't remember!" Gred said, blinking.

"We must-"

"-solve this issue-"

"-before returning-"

"-to research work!"

The brothers alternated in speech, and Gabrielle's head was whipping back and forth.

"Thank you for inviting us," Forge began.

"Little miss Gabby," Gred continued.

"We hope to see you again-"

"-next time on the Dumbledojo!"

"But now, our experiments-"

"-await us!"

"Right!" Gabrielle said, nodding in approval, "while making her deal with her issues might become important later on in her route, you must never forget that she still has a big sword and is way more trigger happy and unrestrained than Arturia was with Shirou! What kind of idiot picks a fight with a Saber like that, anyway? That's got to be one for the Darwin awards"

A few seconds of silence passed.

"... That has been all for today's Dumbledojo!" she said, all of a sudden, looking around as if waiting for something to cue her into doing something.

And then an explosion rocked the studio.

Gabrielle looked alarmed. "I hope there's a dojo for next time!" she said, somewhat frightened.

* * *

Dumbledore turned off the tape of that last Dumbledojo, and turned to the audience.

"Well, that's all for this iteration's Dumbledojos! Tune in next chapter, were we shall look at the possible bad endings that could've resulted from Harry's actions in Chapter three!"

Gabrielle nodded, smiling at the camera, bouncing in place as if cheering like a cheerleader. "Right! And if you've got any suggestions for possible Bad Endings that we might have missed, just send us a letter, PM or state your bad ending in a review, and if we deem it plausible, it will be featured on our show!"

"Thank you, Gabby, for being such a darn good sport," Dumbledore said, with a kindly smile.

"No, professor, thank you for the opportunity to get some much needed screentime! Just you wait, big breasted bimbos! I'm gonna get my own route, and then you'll be sorry!"

Dumbledore backed away, very, very slowly.

"Just as a reminder?" Dumbledore said, whispering conspirationally towards the camera, "not all of what we say in here is entirely serious."

* * *

Sooooo, folks... what did y'all think of the Dumbledojo? It's something of a parody of the Tiger Dojo, obviously, and the entire joke here is analyzing points at which Harry doing something stupid could've led to his death. Really, these first few ones can all be blamed on blatant plot induced stupidity, as I didn't give Harry much wiggle room to thwart Stage One. Dumbledore and Gabrielle's chastisement might become meaner once it's less about plot-inducing stupidity and more about Harry making an obviously wrong, or out of character, choice. Or when he does something immensely stupid, like believe he knows combat better than his Servant.

I'll see if I can throw in at least one Dumbledojo every chapter, with a special with several possible Bad Ends on every fifth chapter, from now on.

If you guys submit possible bad ends, like Gabrielle says, and they are plausible, they will be featured. Please excuse me if I don't see or pass up your suggestion, as I can't be everywhere all the time.


	6. Great Genius-Guided Gambit

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Great Genius-Guided Gambit**

* * *

The Six heads of school, heading their students, began to walk until they were nearly next to each other, forming a heptagon with one side free. The side that was free was quickly filled as Ruler appeared in a golden shower of particles, taking shape.

"I, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and proxy for the Four Founding Families, pledge myself as moderator, pledge Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the Host School and pledge my students towards the cause," Dumbledore began, putting his hand forwards. "My champion has been chosen, his servant summoned."

Immediately at Dumbledore's left, the cycle began, with the last to arrive, the Church's leader. His face, oddly resembling that of Steven Seagal, with a cleft chin rivaling that of Bruce Campbell's, twisted into an easy going smile as he took a step forward. "I, Risei Kotomine, Rector of the Vatican's Academy for the Magical Arts, pledge myself as an observer and pledge my students towards the cause. My champion has been chosen, his servant summoned."

Next to the man, the battle-scarred commander of the wizarding equivalent to Military School took a step forward. "I, William Shacklebolt, proxy for Lord El-Melloi" there was a muted cough, "the second, " he continued, "pledge Lord El-Melloi the Second as an observer and pledge his students towards the cause. His champion has been chosen, his servant summoned."

Following him, came Durmstrang's turn, as their leader took a step forward, "I, Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster for Durmstrang Academy of Wizardry, pledge myself as an observer and pledge my students towards the cause. My champion has been chosen, his servant summoned," Karkaroff stated, imperiously.

With a nod, the metaphorical ball was passed to Salem's headmistress. "I, Marcia Crowley, Headmistress for Salem Academy of Witchcraft, pledge myself as an observer and pledge my students towards the cause. My champion has been chosen, his servant summoned," she said.

At this point, people realized that 'his' didn't mean that the master was necessarily male. In fact, ALL of them had been introduced as such, and so it was best to assume nothing about genders. Particularly given that the girls-only school had introduced their master as such.

Still, next came the one that was second to last, the leader of the Beauxbatons contingent. "I, Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, pledge myself as an observer and pledge my students towards the cause. My champion has been chosen, his servant summoned," said the largest of those gathered, with an almost booming voice fitting her body.

At last, it came to the end of the heptagon, where Ruler stood.

"I, Servant Ruler, designated representative of the Holy Grail, pledge myself as Arbiter, Controller and Regulator, and pledge the Grail's chosen to the cause. The Grail has chosen, and provided a servant. I, Servant Ruler, designated representative of the Holy Grail, accept your pledges, and declare this Holy Grail Tournament to have officially commenced!.. But if you fight here and ruin dinner, I will slap you with a penalty, so hold your horses until tomorrow."

Dumbledore's palm met his face. "You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

"Of course!" the handsome Servant said, grinning cheekily. "It's what I do best, even though history seems to want to pretend that I was some sort of super wise figure or something stupid like that. Hah, ain't that rich?" Ruler said, shaking his head. "Still... I will now state the absolute rules that must be followed. Failure to comply with these shall result in penalization, ranging from the removal of a command seal to the denial of participation to even immediate execution, depending on circumstance."

All five of the school heads, and one proxy, nodded in agreement.

"Good," Ruler said, stroking his chin, "Casualties are to be kept to a minimum, and as such, violence against those not involved with the Grail War has been forbidden. In order to maintain secrecy, fighting in areas where there are non-magicals is also forbidden. That is all."

The six others in the Heptagon nodded. "We accept such conditions," they chorused.

"Good, good!"

And so the 'grand' ceremony that opened the Grail Tournament finished. It was a simple, practical affair free of subterfuge, of power plays and of disruptions.

* * *

Saber leaned back. "You know, giving her the location of your room is just as dangerous as telling her my name," she said, resting on the comfortable bed that Harry's private room had provided them with, ignoring that she had her own and instead doing so on Harry's. Indeed, in her own bed sat Hermione Granger, accompanied by Ron Weasley.

"Actually, he didn't tell me," Hermione said, matter of factly, "I wore a blindfold here, so I don't know in what part of the castle we are or how to even get here, since we used secret passages to sneak here."

Saber nodded, approvingly. "That is forethought," she said.

Ron grumbled something about how much preparation was spent on trying to keep this place secret. He wasn't gonna go around telling everyone where Harry and his servant were shacking up.

Harry sighed, from his place leaning against the doorframe that separated the en-suite bathroom from the rest of the room. "We need to plan, and for that, I need Hermione's brains and Ron's tactical acumen. I'm more of an action guy, myself."

Saber seemed to be torn between approving and disapproving, it seemed.

"Still... This tournament is a battle royale. There aren't any defined rules, and I don't have pretty much any information on your opponents... it's hard to make a strategy that would allow you to win like this, Harry. I don't even know HER capabilities," Ron explained, gesturing towards Saber at the end.

"Secrecy is paramount, and I will not lose an advantage in this war to the unprotected mind of an adolescent," Saber said, shaking her head.

"No need to be mean about it," Ron sniped back.

"Master, why do we keep this one around?" Saber said, looking at Harry.

"Because of reasons," Harry said, with a tone of finality that allowed no further arguments. It was not very convincing to Saber. Or Hermione. Or even Ron himself. "Okay, it's because when he stops being lazy, he can be quite intelligent. Kind of like Fred and George, except he doesn't so much goof off as he slacks off."

"... Is that... a compliment?" Ron asked, honestly confused. "Whatever, I'll take it as one."

Hermione sighed. "I am surrounded by idiots, every second of my life," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Harry and Ron both looked offended at that, but Saber was merely amused.

"So... I need to do scout work?"

Hermione nodded. "We need to know who the other six masters are, and then we'll see if we can come up with a plan to make them reveal their servants to us. If we're lucky, they're more readily recognizable than Saber..."

"You know, we're walking in blind... I don't like this. At all. It's worse than when we chased Quirrel. We were dumb little kiddies then, but now we know what we're getting into. It's all the scarier for it," Ron said, frowning at Harry. "The only plans I have so far are of you using yourself as bait, mate. I'm sorry, I need more time to come up with something better."

"Using myself as bait?" Harry asked. "Explain it, at least," he continued.

"Well... pretty much everyone will guess that you are a Master. I mean, it's just to be expected that Harry Potter would be a Master. Though most probably won't expect you and won't see you coming if someone else is outed as Hogwarts' master. I'm not sure about doing that, though. School pride and all," Ron explained, looking at his audience to see them gesture him to keep going with the explanation. "So, I thought that you could just walk around with Saber, openly, so that maybe a Master would try to confront you or something."

"His idea has merit," Saber said, evenly, "the rat of an Archer and Assassin already know your identity, Master, as well as my class. Their masters could very well use this information as a bargaining chip, or pass it off in a bid to put others in a better position against ourselves," she explained, "if they have seen my unassailable greatness, it'd only be expected," she added.

Harry sighed, internally, as his servant could not pass the chance to praise herself. At times, her confidence in herself was infectious and even uplifting, but Harry needed not assurances at this moment.

"To be truthful, I am very... restless. I have not yet had a good fight with which to stretch my muscles, and I have to admit, it's wearing at my nerves to be on the defensive for this long. First with the invisible Assassin, then the cowardly Archer..." Saber said, a displeased, bemused expression on her face that promised pain to their next opponent.

"Yeah... I know the feeling," Harry murmured, before shaking his head. "So, like an ambush... we trigger it on our own terms, and counter-ambush our ambushers?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Ron said. "It's basic, you need to trick the opponent into making their move too early," he summarized.

Hermione sighed. "Am I the only one that has noticed the suicidal nature of this plan?" she asked. "I am, aren't I?"

"Suicidal?" Saber asked, raising an eyebrow. "As if! Master could have no better protection than myself!"

"Near-death situations notwithstanding," Harry commented, grinning.

Saber turned to glare at him. "We got out alive, didn't we?"

Harry shrugged. "I lost my hat," he said, simply. "Also, while on it... Give this back to Seamus, Ron," Harry said, handing Ron the hat he'd... ahem, borrowed, from Seamus, in shrunken form.

Ron nodded.

Strategy session concluded, Ron and Hermione put on the blindfolds they'd had when they arrived, which were also charmed to not be noticed by Hermione, and then were taken back to the common room by Harry, who used his invisibility cloak to sneak all the way back to his private room.

Saber looked at him from where she was, seated on the bed, as Harry came in. "Tomorrow we'll probably get into a real fight," Saber commented, airily. "I can't truly guarantee your safety if I am held up by an enemy servant," she said, closing her eyes and looking as solemn as she could, which was... surprisingly, very much so. Saber, once she got serious, seemed to actually have some sort of presence that went beyond that of normal people. "Are you sure you wish to accompany me? I could very well do this on my own, without risking you."

Harry shook his head. "No. I can't ask you to do that. I will accompany and support you, as best as I can. Besides, you've got enough prana to escape and form another contract, even if I perish, don't you?" he asked, completely serious and without a hint of the flippant air he'd faced this plan with before.

"Yes. This school is filled with potential masters, and I could choose any that I wished, so long as their magic could support me," which, if Harry gauged her rate of prana consumption right, wouldn't be a very big list, admittedly. Mostly because she seemed fond of staying in physical form all the time, which he'd been told, by her of course, would cause a bigger Prana consumption than normal for a servant.

Harry nodded. "Then my death shouldn't be THAT much of a setback for you. As for me... I can't stay back in the sidelines. I can't just keep hiding behind someone else and only come out at the last second. I'm tired of surviving based on consistent good luck," Harry said.

"Once is a coincidence. Twice is a stretch. Thrice is a pattern," Saber said, simply. "Don't undersell yourself, Master. Your Prana Capacity is, if I have to guess, most likely peerless even in this school, if your reactions to our recharges are anything to go by," she said.

"Hm... anything you want to elaborate on?" Harry asked.

"I thought you knew that I was taking far more energy than I actively needed when we make the transfer. I enjoy the feel of your prana coursing through me, and it's rejuvenating on my body," Saber said, as if she hadn't just revealed she was basically stealing from Harry.

"But this... morning..." Harry began, blushing wildly, "I felt the drain. It was pretty bad, even if it stopped botherin me pretty quickly."

Saber had the slightest pink dusting on her cheeks. "That was... special. The more intimate the contact, the more efficient and powerful the transfer is, and the more intoxicating the feel of your prana is."

"Can you grow addicted to it?" Harry asked, worried.

"Yes," Saber confessed, "but I don't think it's likely."

Harry imagined she wouldn't let herself grow addicted to his Prana. It was a massive weakness for her, since it would most likely make her attached to him, and he was a weakness for her, as unlike the other masters, probably, he wasn't really cut out for combat. Even ignoring the fact that the other masters, mostly the ones from the ICW, were probably trained in combat unlike him, they were also older, and most likely predisposed to fighting for the Grail. Harry himself didn't have much interest in the cup.

He wanted his parents back, and he had an opportunity for that wish to be granted, but he didn't think highly enough of himself to think he had a chance in hell in this tournament. And yet here he was, staring into the eyes of the Servant he'd summoned, a being of peerless, unmatched strength...

Who was already naked on his bed. "I'll be going to sleep now. We'll perform the Prana recharge ritual tomorrow, early... I will need to be in top shape, possibly with surplus Prana."

Harry just nodded, and watched as she settled in his bed, so she could sleep. Within seconds, she was trying to strangle his pillow, probably remembering an old battle or something along those lines.

With a sigh, he decided he might as well take advantage of the fact she was asleep so easily. He grabbed the covers and gently tucked her in. She had a surprisingly goofy expression as she strangled her imaginary enemy, and she looked, oddly, like a child for a minute. He smile fondly and patted her head, silently thanking her, for she had saved his life twice already. She almost seemed to nuzzle into his hand as he patted her head. "Papa~" she mumbled in her sleep.

The word tugged at Harry's heartstrings, as deep seated issues about his own lack of parents arose. Had she grown with a similar childhood to his? He knew he wasn't unique. Far from it, in fact. No, his circumstances could've been far worse and, if he were to be honest, he was of the mind that Saber did not have a very happy story behind herself. He wondered if that had anything to do with her father, but dismissed the thought as pointless. If she wanted to, she would tell him. There would be time for it.

He had no intention of dying, after all.

Once he'd tucked her in properly, she seemed to settle into a calm, quiet sleep.

"Hm... Still cute as a button when asleep," he said, almost chuckling, before crossing the room and going into the bathroom, continuing to mumble to himself. "I wonder if she was dreaming about strangling her father..." she did seem to be thinking about her father, when he patted her head... He'd heard weirder than someone bipolar enough to want to strangle someone and then immediately afterwards want to be praised by that same person.

Hermione tended to be like that.

Did Saber have low self esteem or something? Nah, that couldn't be. She had self confidence to spare. Maybe some sort of issue or pent up self loathing over something she'd done?

Were those two things even related? Harry was hardly in a position to say if they were.

Come to think of it, almost all of his friends had issues.

Ron, his very first friend, hated being poor and felt inferior to everyone around him.

Hermione hated being a bossy know-it-all teacher's pet that drove people to dislike her intensely.

Neville had all the confidence of a doormat.

Dobby is Dobby, which, unknown to most people, is a newly registered adjective. If you look it up in the dictionary, the definition 'insane' would come up.

Ginny couldn't string two words together in his presence.

The twins could be incredibly cruel at times, and they seemed to be incapable of being serious.

Saber had crazy gender issues and seemed to be a bit of a battle maniac, if her admission to being restless because she hadn't had a fight worth mentioning was anything to go by.

Then he stopped. Do I have any more friends, he wondered, and if I do, how are they crazy, exactly?

He guessed he could count Dumbledore. Nuttier than squirrel poop, that one, and though he'd been surprisingly serious and grave this year, Harry was sure Dumbledore would return to his goofy antics once the war finished.

Serious- Sirius Black was also nuts. Though his brand of nuttery was more explainable. A decade under Dementors would drive anyone around the bend.

Remus Lupin was, much like Dobby, seemingly determined to make himself the world's doormat.

Molly Weasley made good to her name and molly-coddled children incredibly, to the point that at times, even to Harry who was quite glad to receive the attention, it was asphyxiating.

Arthur Weasley was the very definition of a spineless, henpecked husband.

"Everyone I know has issues..."

And that wasn't to mention his own laundry list. Yeah.

Better to not dwell on that.

There were issues that needed resolving, after all. A cold shower ought to help.

* * *

Ever distant, ever so distant, a small ray of light peeked through the darkness, gave the barest hint of hope. It was frightening. The dark was safe. The dark was warm. The dark never hurt. Always protected, always covered, always hid.

The darkness was friendly, caring, nurturing, but when the light came, it caused only destruction. The light brought with itself change. It brought with itself nothing but pain and misery, all around. Why couldn't the light just go away? It'd make life so much easier, if one could just dwell in the darkness and never have to wake up to face another day.

That was when the door opened, and light dashed inside, illuminating and showing everything, showing filth and disarray as far as the eye could see, showed everything the dark had oh so carefully concealed.

Shivering, not from cold but from fright, green eyes darted from side to side, scanning the environment, taking everything in, observing. Behind those eyes, so young, so pure and filled with innocence, burned the flame of jealousy, of envy, and hatred, for all that they observed.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes, as he looked outside from the window on his personal quarters, looking at the distant, ever so distant and beautiful, moon, one of the most important celestial bodies. "Ah, if only I could divine what the future promises to bring... but alas, Divination remains my weakest field," he muttered to himself. With a wave of his hand, the window closed, shutting off the moonlight that had illuminated his quarters.

Hogwarts was so peaceful at night, there wasn't a sound to be heard.

* * *

A dozen stage hands ran madly, dressed in their stereotypical ninja outfits, as they put the set of the Dumbledojo in place, which was odd, because they were using the Room of Requirement, and that one automatically made whatever room you need to fill your purposes.

At last, they were finished, and Dumbledore just barely managed to make it in time, rushing into the scene. "Ah, sorry about that! I came rushing as fast as I could, but the castle decided to play tricks on me, and caught me on a staircase loop. Then I remembered Fawkes could bring me here instantly."

"Well, that's great, we lost the first fifteen minutes!" Gabrielle yelled, placing her hands upon her hips and yelling, trying to look intimidating. As you might've guessed, it was more adorable than intimidating in any form. "Also, we're on air," she remarked, dryly.

"Ah, right!" Dumbledore said, waving his wand over himself and transfiguring his clothes into a pink gi with a black belt.

Gabrielle snickered, but then Dumbledore turned the Wand of Destiny on her, and her Beauxbatons robes were turned into the familiar Phys. Ed. number. She yelped at the change, and then glared at Dumbledore, who smiled slyly at her. "You ruined another set of robes! Why do you even use permanent transfiguration on these, anyway?"

"I'm trying to see if you can get the hint that we've got a dress code," Dumbledore said, frowning.

"... Why do we even have a dresscode? They can't see me! This is a written medium and the author can't draw to save his life, so they wouldn't even be able to tell if you vanished your clothes!" Gabrielle said, anger evident in her expression and posture, leaning forward as if attacking.

"Ah, but you see, the readers' minds do all the necessary work for us! All we need to do is provide sufficient description, and their imagination will do the rest! Truly, nothing is more powerful than the human mind! Why, with their imagination, I could change my physique from that of a decrepit old man's to a latino bodybuilder! Wink wink, nudge nudge, Mister Writer!" Dumbledore explained, a wide grin on his face as he flexed his massive pecs.

"... It doesn't matter what the narration say, because I can see you, and you're still a decrepit old man. Please put your clothes back on, I'm going to have nightmares for weeks!" Gabrielle ranted.

"Every party needs a pooper, that's why they invited you, party pooper!" Dumbledore sang, immaturely.

"... Seriously, am I supposed to be the loli here?" Gabrielle asked, frowning at the Fourth Wall.

"Ah, sorry, it's just that this chapter was kind of boring, so I'm trying to liven it up. Please, accept my most sincere apologies if I offended you, Gabrielle," Dumbledore said, offering a bow of deference.

"Let's just get to the bad end already..." Gabrielle muttered.

* * *

Bad End Number 4: Even if it's true, saying it will still get you killed:

Saber had just performed a small twirl to show off her outfit to her Master, seemingly content enough to forget to maintain an appearance of manliness. "Wow. You're dressed like a hooker, Saber," Harry said.

"... What?" Saber asked, blinking.

An extremely long conversation about what a hooker was, accompanied by Saber's protests and anger at being compared with one, along with a similarly long explanation about transvestites (because apparently the grail had not seen fit to inform Saber about what those were), as well as another visit to the store to buy manlier clothing for Saber, ensued.

During the shopping trip, they got so into it that they never noticed the servant creeping up on them until Harry had an arrow poking out of his chest, bits of his heart still clinging to the tip.

* * *

"Well... that's... unnecessarily graphic," Dumbledore commented.

"Yay! Random violence!" Gabrielle cheered. "Okay, we can't really say that much about that one. I mean, he couldn't have possibly known that there would be a servant stalking him, right?"

"That's where you're wrong, Gabrielle, and that's where a master differs from his young student! Allow me to inform you of something: What Harry here has forgotten is that there is, in fact, a servant who explicitly said that he is after him. Admittedly, the blame cannot solely be put on him, as his mind has blocked out the near-death experience due to the pain experienced, but there is no excuse for him not remembering when he has, as a matter of fact, been told the circumstances in which he summoned Saber."

Gabrielle gasped, enlightened, "I see then... so what he did wrong was..."

"Actually getting involved too much. If he had just been detached and allowed Saber to dress the way she wanted to, and if he hadn't stopped to explain prostitution to her," Dumbledore blinked, then looked at Gabrielle.

"This is non-canon, so even though it's knowledge I don't have in the canon, here I'm perfectly aware of what a prostitute is. It's the kind of people who get paid to do what my sister does for fr-" she began.

"Why must you insist with that?" Dumbledore asked. "I know it's not true," he said, softly.

"Because she gets access to Harry and she wastes it! Instead of going with the dreamy hero, she went with the brutish ginger!" she snapped, angry.

"So you're jealous of her, then?" Dumbledore said.

"Yes!" Gabrielle yelled, with all the blunt honesty of youth. Youth that was over eighteen years of age, honest.

"Ah, okay," Dumbledore said.

Gabrielle smiled. "Anyway, now that we've got that out of the way... Well, I can't really give Harry any points here. No matter if he was just trying to help Saber have a more dignified look, he should know not to interfere with fanservice."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Therefore, you shall receive the lowest of scores, Harry! And with this, we conclude today's Dumbledojo!"

"Just one?" Gabrielle asked, shocked.

"Yes, just the one. The author said there wasn't enough positive feedback to know if people actually liked the Dumbledojo segments, so he's not sure about continuing them."

Gabrielle looked horrified. "But that's the only way I'm gonna be getting any screentime! I won't even appear in a second task Ripoff because that would just be silly in this world!"

"Unfortunate, but that is to be our fate," Dumbledore said, nodding sagely, the edges of his sleeves and pant legs rustling in imaginary wind along with his hair and beard as he cupped his chin, seeming contemplative, "and if it is, then so be it! But seriously, people, please do try to convince the Author to continue with these segments! I need the paycheck to pay the lawyers that I had to hire from last time!"

"And I need my screen time if I'm ever going to get my own route!" Gabrielle said.

"Be that as it may, see you all next time!.. hopefully there is a next time..."

And so the curtain closed.

Even though there hadn't been one last time.


	7. From Zero To OH MY GOD WHAT THE FCK

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**From Zero To OH MY GOD WHAT THE F*CK IS THAT!?**

* * *

Harry blinked.

"Saber, why are you in my bed?" Harry asked, not even bothering to look at who was sharing his bed. He didn't need to. Only two people, besides himself and Saber, could access the room, and he was pretty sure neither of them would be as comfortable to sleep with as Saber was. Some would have wondered why Harry was somewhat annoyed that a pretty girl wished to share his bed.

And others, less ignorant ones, would quickly make the connection that said girl was also quite clearly psychotic and had the mother of all gender issues. A shame for her she had been born so far behind the times, 'cause these days, there were such things as sex change operations, which could've made her at least slightly happier.

"I enjoy sleeping next to you," Saber said, bluntly and honestly. Harry sighed in response, which she seemed to take offense to. "What?" she asked, clearly peeved.

"I'm English, Saber, this goes against my basic sensibilities," he said. While not everyone conformed to the stereotype of the cold and impersonal Englishman, Harry had been raised in a household that tried to be as normal as possible, and one of the things that his Aunt and Uncle had strived to be was stereotypically English, to the point that they were abnormally normal. Harry considered the whole thing hilarious, since he was pretty certain that his mother and his aunt Petunia had both been born in Cornwall, and while Cornwall's status as a separate nation from England was debatable (or it was as far as Harry knew, admittedly his grasp of history was weak... maybe it'd be better to ask Hermione to look it up?), Harry himself was on the side of the people who thought that the Cornish were foreign to England.

Mostly because he didn't really care.

Saber made a face. "No, you are not," she said, simply.

"Well, I'm half Cornish, I guess," Harry said, in a placating tone, "though I'm not sure where the Potters come from," he admitted.

"The Potter family is considered important enough, possibly because of your fame, for the Grail to provide that information for me," Saber admitted, "although, I have similar 'notes', if you will, on others like the Malfoys, Blacks and the like, even though they are irrelevant to the Grail Tournament."

"How convenient," Harry said, dryly.

"I suppose the Grail would've ensured the highest possibility of cooperation by arming servants with knowledge about their masters' backgrounds," Saber said, her arms moving in what would've been a shrug if she hadn't been using them to hold herself up, above Harry, one hand on each side of his head, pressing down on the pillow. "You are half Cornish, half Welsh, born in England," Saber mentioned.

"The Potters are Welsh?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

"For about fourteen hundred years or so, the Potter Family has lived in exactly the same place. All the way up until you lived the first decade and a half of your life in Surrey and Scotland," Saber casually spoke. "Regardless of that, you've got Prana in excess, and I want it inside me," she said, flippantly.

Harry flushed.

"Give it to me," she murmured, slowly coming down and linking their lips, clearly moaning in delight as she felt her body being filled with her master's power once more.

Harry flushed even more at the noise.

* * *

"I want robes like the ones the guys from the Vatican wear!" Ron said, as he, Hermione and Saber all surrounded Harry at lunch that day.

Saber was wearing a set of Hogwarts robes she'd taken from Harry, because Harry didn't want to deal with people complaining about her casual wear, and her armor would be noisy and uncomfortable for both her and everyone around her.

"It's called a cassock," Hermione said, "and it's their uniform," she noted.

"I'd join them almost only to get to wear one," Ron said, grinning foolishly, "though I think I like how the Beauxbaton uniforms fit girls all the better."

Indeed, Beauxbatons was the only school that chose to have their uniforms not be form concealing in the least. Ron had happened to come across a blonde girl from Beauxbatons that he'd been drooling after ever since that morning.

"You should've seen her, mate! They don't make girls like that here," he noted.

"Eh," Harry said, clearly not interested. "Nothing was out of the ordinary today."

"Archer is watching us," Saber commented. "And there are at least three servants present in this room, possibly four counting Assassin, who might be hiding."

"He's not pouring Killing Intent at us this time," Harry noted.

Saber shrugged. "I'm almost sure that we'll be followed and attacked outside of the Great Hall," she said. "Are you ready, Master?"

Harry smiled. It was void of mirth.

* * *

It wasn't long before Harry was pushed into an empty classroom, through a closed door (that fortunately hadn't been locked), by Saber. They'd walked away from the Great Hall alone, practically invoking trouble, so it was no shock that they had found it. It was good that they'd been prepared, otherwise the massive, gray-skinned giant that had just passed where Harry had been but a second ago would have turned Harry and Saber into paste well before they could actually see him coming.

Saber grit her teeth as she brought her sword up, holding it with one hand on the hilt and the other on the flat side of the blade, while the gray skinned giant turned with agility that defied his massive size and threw a massive fist towards Saber's face. Despite the fact that Saber had blocked, she had been forced down to one of her knees, while the massive Servant, for it could be nothing else, reared his other fist back to punch again.

Harry, almost panicking, pointed his wand at the gigantic monster, but before he could do much of anything, he heard a distant shout and his legs and arms locked into his sides, as he was rendered paralyzed. Soon after, ropes bound him tightly. "Saber!" he yelled, as his servant was struck by the giant's fist, her blade having been knocked aside and her guard broken, despite her prodigious strength.

Saber was knocked flat against the ground, and before she could even grunt in pain, the giant was on her again, ready to stomp on her skull. She quickly rolled aside, and, abusing the fact that the giant was still recovering from his attack, tossed herself forward, rolling and then standing up in a fluid sequence of movements that would've struck Berserker in the groin area, which was only covered by what looked like an armored kilt.

The dazzling silver sword in Saber's hands pierced through the gray giant's armor, but was stopped by something beneath it.

"What the-" Saber managed to express her shock with just two words before the giant backhanded her halfway across the hall, causing her to shoot off like a bullet until she hit a wall, which crumbled around her, covering her in rubble, a cloud of dust forming around her, the dust of a classroom that had been in disuse for a hundred years having piled up enough to make it very thick.

"SABER!" Harry yelled, looking in growing horror as the giant leaned down, looking like a great runner readying for an explosive start.

"Don't waste your breath," an airy, flippant sounding voice. "Your servant is doomed, leetle boy," it continued, sounding conceited and arrogant, instantaneously rubbing Harry in all the wrong ways. "But I'm, ah, 'ow you say? Magnanimous, yes," Harry's eyes snapped to where the source of the voice came, and he saw a fair skinned and haired girl in a beauxbatons uniform looking down on him, figuratively and literally, "I shall let you leave wizz your life, but not your servant's," she said. "Berserker, finish 'er off," she called to the giant.

The giant seemed ready to pounce, already beginning its growl.

"CLARENT BLOOD ARTHUR!"

All of a sudden, Harry almost had to narrow his eyes as the disturbingly blood red light that had erupted from Saber's pile of rubble tore through the air at Berserker.

Harry couldn't have heard the Beauxbatons girl gasp in horror as the attack engulfed Berserker. As her concentration broke, so did the jinx that had locked Harry's limbs in place, and before she could do much of anything, Harry tackled her to the ground. It was easy to deprive her of her wand in their tumble, as she'd slackened her grip on it when Berserker had been hit by Saber's attack. Despite her being a girl, and Harry having been raised to believe in the 'don't hit girls' stuff up until he was eleven, because the wizards didn't really concern themselves with gender roles, as magic made natural advantages on either side almost entirely meaningless.

It was no wonder that Harry had no objections with utilizing physical violence on the French bitch. Unfortunately for him, he was not particularly strong or skilled in the art of beating the tar out of someone, so despite disarming her, he was still quickly tossed off of her and she reversed their circumstances, putting her hands around his neck.

Remembering that he had almost died from asphyxiation when Assassin had cornered him so long ago, as well as that time Quirrel had tried the same, Harry wondered why it was that people seemed to have an obsession with him choking. He didn't have long to dwell on it, though, so he raised his legs and kicked the french girl off of him. He pulled his wand from the pocket he'd been storing it and pointed it at his opponent, who froze in place.

Harry panted as the adrenaline started to wear off.

At that moment, Saber came to him, clearly exhausted, as she was limping. "Master I- I'm exhausted," she said, clearly meaning it, "My noble phantasm... took too much Prana..." she wheezed, before grabbing onto Harry's shoulders and turning him around.

While it forced him to take his attention away from the still living threat, Harry was nonetheless thinking it was better to just heed Saber's request rather than not. She immediately slipped her tongue into his mouth and sought his, and after a second, Harry began to feel the truly massive amount of Prana she began to take from him, though it took a while, a good half a minute, for their kiss to transfer it, and much of it was lost, due to the inefficiency of this manner of transfer. Saber had taken enough to fill herself back to full strength, but had only received a little bit over half of that. As such, she hadn't been revitalized as much as she could have been.

It was still enough to block the fireball that would've engulfed Harry and his servant. The magical fire fizzled like nothing in the face of Saber's Magic Resistance. Saber had moved in a flash to do so, standing protectively in front of Harry.

Both Master and Servant, however, wondered about the half-avian, who despite her bestial features seemed to still think she was in control. They had just killed her servant, one would think that she'd be feeling scared or something.

Bloodlust and the sure certainty of death made Harry freeze in his spot, before he very, very slowly turned around, horror etched in his face as Berserker stood, good as new, advancing on them slowly, almost as if methodically intimidating them. "W-What!? How!?" Harry asked, shocked.

The half avian creature returned to her form as a seemingly human teenager, and giggled, clearly enjoying the horror in her opponents. "I am... ah, disappointed," the Beauxbatons Master informed, "I'd 'ave zought zat 'Arry Potter would summon a great hero, but you're no match for my Berserker," she added.

Harry grit his teeth. "What is this monster!?" he asked, mostly to himself.

"Should we run, Master, or should we make an attempt on the Master's life?" Saber asked, looking somewhat worried that they were, indeed, going to die.

Harry shook his head. "If you've got us so outdone, then why haven't you killed us yet?" Harry asked the French master.

The girl seemed to take a moment to collect herself. "My seester, she is... a fangirl, of yours, and she'd be... disappointed... if I killed you," the girl said, shrugging, "and I am reluctant to kill a Master, regardless. So, do surrender, please."

Harry cursed. Dammit, she wasn't a bad person who he could ever justify killing her, even if doing so was vital to his continued survival. That monstrously powerful Berserker would probably be an insurmountable challenge. The servant himself was probably invincible, and they'd likely have to rely on killing the Master instead. So the French Master would either have to triumph, or she'd most likely be killed, simply because her servant was too horribly powerful to engage directly.

He could choose to kill her now, but then... But then, he'd be no better than Voldemort, killing others when it was convenient to him. No, he couldn't kill her.

"There's no way you can just let us go, is there?" Harry asked.

Saber stiffened. "Master-"

Harry shook his head.

The French girl laughed. "Not while your servant lives, no. I must win this war," she said, almost apologetically.

Harry sighed. "On my mark, grab me and run," Harry whispered, knowing that Saber heard him perfectly well, and probably the Berserker as well, but he was mad so it didn't much matter that he had heard. Then, he turned his full attention on the witch. "Can I at least have your name?"

"Hm. So you can reveal it to ze ozzer masters?" she asked, raising a dainty eyebrow.

"I could just identify you by face, you know. Yours is not a mug easily missed," Harry replied without missing a beat.

She smiled. "But you wouldn't, would you?"

Harry shook his head. "Not if I had a vested interest in your survival," Harry noted.

"You're proposing an alliance? You're on shaky ground as is," she noted.

With a grim smile, one that showed that he knew exactly where he stood, Harry shrugged.

"If nozzing else, you've got... balls," she said, as if unsure. Her thick accent meant she probably wasn't really all that familiar with English outside of classes on it. Which made sense, what with her being from France and all. "'Ow can I trust your word?" she finished.

"I'm Harry Potter, aren't I? It'd be pretty bad publicity if I was a known liar. I do have an image to maintain," and that had been bullshit of the highest order. Harry never made an effort to maintain his image. But she didn't need to know that.

"Try 'arder," the girl from Beauxbatons said, smiling in clear amusement.

"Oh, well, can't say I didn't try to walk away from here without resorting to murder," Harry said. "Okay, then, catch!" he yelled, throwing Fleur's wand towards her. The French Witch immediately dove to catch her wand, focused on her second most important tool. As a result of Harry's gambit, she had completely forgotten to block passage to her enemies.

Saber understood Harry's plan immediately and grabbed onto Harry's waist, hoisting him up and throwing him over her shoulder. The giant behind them roared his disapproval, and Harry could almost feel fear itself being afraid of the raging Berserker. Instead of freezing up much like he'd had when he'd first seen the resurrected monster, Harry's wand hand, holding said wand, snapped into action. Transfiguration was not easy by any stretch of the word, and under duress, it was even harder.

However, Harry didn't need to actually get the Transfiguration he was using right.

He wasn't trying to do anything more than slow Berserker down, after all. The giant was faster than Saber carrying him, so slowing him down was an absolute necessity. As such, Harry targetted the ground right in front of Berserker and chanted "Avifors," changing the stone beneath the spot where the giant would take his next step into something that was somewhat like a bird except not quite. Berserker's foot squashed the not-quite-bird and sank a little, causing him to trip. It barely slowed him down, but the difference in speed was enough for Saber to leave him biting dust as she pushed herself to the limit, in order for the both of them to escape with their lives from this encounter.

* * *

Despite having put considerable distance between himself and the monster, Harry could not hope to calm down, almost going into hysterics at the fact that he'd just escaped almost certain death.

Archer had been threatening, almost killing him several times. Assassin had been horrible, but Harry didn't remember that.

But he had never even imagined that there could be something as insanely intimidating as the two and a half meters tall, three hundred kilogram monstrosity that the French girl commanded. Harry hadn't the foggiest idea how he'd managed to keep his cool this long, but he finally cracked when Saber carried him over to their shared room, simply collapsing on his bed and trying his hardest to not think, because thinking brought back memories of red eyes and a mountain of lead-gray muscle.

"Master! Are you okay?" Saber asked, softly, still clad in her armor, all but the helmet. "That was... intense," she said, "to not only remain impervious to my attacks, but to also survive my strongest attack..." she seemed serene for a moment.

Saber had demonstrated that she was one who appreciated battle, but this was beyond their wildest expectations. This hadn't been a fight, this had been a desperate struggle for survival, and they had escaped with their lives because the enemy Master had allowed them to, even if she herself hadn't thought she was leaving such a large opening for them to exploit.

"Master?" Saber asked, once more.

"We're alive, Saber," Harry said, almost mechanically, as if trying to convince himself that he was. "We survived. We confronted that monster head on, and we're still here," he added, his voice sounding almost distant.

"You've performed admirably- no, excellently," Saber complimented, "to be faced with an opponent of that caliber and retain your senses... is by no means a small feat. You've done much more than what could be expected of you, Master."

Harry shivered.

"If we were lucky, that French girl was paying more attention to her Berserker than she was to the name of my Noble Phantasm. If she didn't hear it or ignored it entirely, then it's possible she might not be capable of discerning my name through the Servant Status Screen the Grail provides her with," Saber continued, frowning somewhat.

Suddenly, a thought struck Harry. He almost didn't want to, but he still thought he should at least look at the Servant's stats. First, he had to check on something. "Saber... don't you have a Noble Phantasm that prevents people from connecting your sword to your name?"

Saber shook her head. "I had to take my helmet off to use Blood Arthur. Even though putting it on again would renew the protection upon my identity, it wouldn't alter knowledge that already exists. So she would still know the name of my Noble Phantasm, and if she could guess my name from it, she would know my name as well."

"That's bad," Harry said. "Do you mind if I-"

"- not at all," Saber said, "at this point, secrecy is meaningless. The information is in your head and could be plucked out by a Legilimens, even if you didn't look at it."

Harry nodded.

* * *

SERVANT SABER

Spirit: Mordred Pendragon

Master: Harry James Potter

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Strength: A

Mana: B

Endurance: A

Luck: C

Agility: A

Noble Phantasm: A

CLASS SKILLS:

Magic Resistance: B

Riding: B

PERSONAL SKILLS:

Instinct: B

Prana Burst: A

Battle Continuation: B

Charisma: C-

Morgan's Curse: EX

NOBLE PHANTASMS:

Secret of Pedigree: Anti-Unit Self C

Clarent: Anti-Unit C

Clarent Blood Arthur: Anti-Army A+

Harry frowned at the list of Skills, as he didn't truly understand what they entailed. Fortunately for him, the Grail did, and actually provided a small blurb with a basic explanation of each skill.

Magic Resistance B: Cancel spells below rank B. Even if targeted by high level spells and greater rituals, it is difficult for the Servant to be affected.

Riding B: Most Vehicles and beasts can be ridden with above average skills. However, it cannot be used to ride beasts of rank XXXXX or above.

Instinct B: A refined sixth sense that allows the servant to accurately predict the opponent's next move.

Prana Burst A: A normal weapon that is not on the level of a divine mystery can be destroyed in one blow. Raises defense in several times. Can augment the user's speed by recreating the effect of a jet burst.

Battle Continuation B: Allows the servant to continue fighting at full strength ignoring otherwise debilitating wounds and increases the odds of escape to allied ground in a disadvantageous situation.

Harry mentally snorted. At least now he knew how, exactly, they'd managed to survive.

Charisma C-: Increases the effectiveness of allied troops, but at an extreme penalty to their loyalty and morale, as a result of the servant's treacherous disposition in life.

Morgan's Curse EX: Allows Mordred to continue fighting even after receiving several fatal wounds, until her body is destroyed, her Prana reserve depletes or her slayer is killed.

* * *

Harry whistles. "So..."

"Now you know who I am, Master. Do you think any differently of me?" asked Saber, raising an eyebrow.

Seemingly falling into silence for a few seconds, Harry began to shake, before it was revealed as a series of chuckles. "Saber... Mordred... I... don't really care all that much who you were in life. I know the story, pretty much everyone who lives in this country does, and I'm sure there's a lot of wizards and witches that believe that Arthur really is waiting in Avalon until the country needs him once more," Harry explained. "But this... all this, I just said? It's meaningless, because you've saved my life not once, but twice, thrice if we count this scheme of ours. That is what's important now. Because you've shown me that you're not the blood thirsty lunatic that the worst of those stories have painted you as."

Mordred nodded, clearly somewhat distraught, and then went to sit on the bed that Harry was occupying. "Thank you, Master," she said, giving Harry a nod of approval, this time with more certainty.

"I'm all ears," Harry said.

Mordred raised an eyebrow.

"That French girl and her Berserker are probably looking for us right now, and with both of us tired and shell shocked, the worst thing that could possibly happen is running into them. So we'll lay low for a while. It's potions today, anyway, so it's not like I'm missing anything valuable," Harry said, smiling cheekily at Saber. "So, Mordred, Knight of Treachery... tell me your story."

"Very well, Master," Mordred said, a solemn expression on her face as she looked directly into his eyes, identical green on both ends of that stare.

* * *

_And now, for a lesson, in mood whiplash._

Dumbledore pouted. "I wasn't in this chapter at all!" he said, crossing his arms.

"Oh, stop whining, I haven't even been introduced yet! And my bimbo of a sister already had her first chance of getting into an alliance with Harry and blew it by being a total bitch!" Gabrielle countered, before she sighed and adjusted the white shirt that Dumbledore had, once more, forced her to wear, ignoring how cold Hogwarts was and how much it affected her naked legs. Stupid Dumbledore and his stupid dress code, she grumbled under the safety of her mind.

"Ahah, at least you've got the possibility of your own route in the future. I have to content myself with a few cameos here and there, and maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get an awesome 'mentor's death' scene or something like that, like the one I got in canon," Dumbledore said, rubbing his beard and nodding to himself.

"Possibility?" Gabrielle asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "It's a foregone conclusion!" she said, sticking her nose in the air and huffing. "Because the fans love me... right?"

There was a tumbleweed passing by and some crickets chirping.

"Right," Gabrielle repeated, glaring at the in-studio audience, which quickly began cheering for her. "That's better."

"We have a live audience?" Dumbledore asked, baffled.

"Actually, we don't," Gabrielle admitted, looking at the floor, "I'm just trying to feel wanted..."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yeah, I know, me too," he said, patting her head of silvery blond hair, "but this is running too long. We've got an audience to entertain with our exploration of Harry's possible gruesome endings!"

"Yay!" Gabrielle cheered, pumping her fist into the air and jumping in place, matching the atmosphere that Dumbledore created with his wand, causing firecrackers to go off and party decorations to feel the drafty room they were using.

"Right, right, welcome again to the greatest show never aired: The Dumbledojo!" yelled happily the man who had more hair than head.

"Miss Fujimura, please don't sue," Gabrielle noted, immediately afterwards.

"Now, since last chapter, we've actually received some submissions for Bad Ends for Harry! Now, something that we forgot to mention last time, it doesn't necessarily have to be a Bad End related to the latest chapter, but it would be better, if you want for it to be done properly and to not strain the author's brain, for you to add a comment on which scene of which chapter you're submitting the Bad End for. It's just for ease of convenience," Dumbledore explained, before plucking a letter from offscreen.

Gabrielle blinked. "There wasn't anything there," she said, frowning.

"It's the magic of plot convenience, Gabrielle. You'll learn how to manipulate it with time," Dumbledore said, nodding sagely. "Would you like to read this letter from our fans?"

"We have fans?" Gabrielle asked, shocked, before she shook her head "I mean, sure!"

Gabrielle's eyes scanned over the letter. "This is a bill for our electricity usage. In a castle where it doesn't work at all," Gabrielle stated, flatly.

Dumbledore blinked. "I apologize. I have not yet mastered Plot Convenience to utilize it seamlessly. Give me a second," he said, plucking the letter from Gabrielle's hands and vanishing it, before pulling another letter from the black void of the offscreen. "There we go!" he said, happily passing the letter over to Gabrielle.

She nodded. "Oh, dear. We're getting cancelled! Wait... wait, no, sorry, I misunderstood my words. English is still not my first language," she remarked.

"I speak French, and I have no idea how you could've read that from that letter," Dumbledore stated, sounding as confused as he looked.

"Anyway! It's unfortunate, but we cannot write a Bad End with the first suggestion we've ever been given, and it ultimately comes down to how plausible the scenario is. In this case, the suggested Bad End was for Harry to have a wet dream, featuring me I assume,"

Dumbledore coughed. "He'd be arrested if he did," he noted.

"This is a crossover with a Nasu property, everyone's over the age of consent! Especially if they aren't! You said it yourself!"

"Only for the sake of jokes," Dumbledore said, "besides, you still look like a nine years old girl."

Gabrielle pouted, but didn't press the issue any further. "Anyway, the suggested Bad End would be for Harry to have a Wet Dream and accidentally, ahem, bother Saber with it. Now, Mordred has shown that she is, in as few words as possible, kind of a bitch, but she's not going to randomly kill Harry over something like that, particularly given that she's not averse to the idea of having sex with him in order to drain Prana from him. So, I'm sorry, but we cannot reenact this Bad End because it's not plausible enough."

"I don't think reenact is the right word," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard, wondering if the author owned a thesaurus, "nonetheless, she is correct. You have the Dumbledojo's apologies, reviewer. However, we do have another submission. A double one, in fact!"

Gabrielle nodded enthusiastically, as Dumbledore handed her another letter. "This one is technically two different submissions, but both offered the exact same idea. For those two strange minds that thought alike, here is..."

* * *

Bad End Number 5: Daddy Issues

Saber's adorableness as she unconsciously asked for her father tugged at Harry's heartstrings, and did so very fiercely. Finding the sight of her goofy smile adorable, he was tempted to sink a bit further into indulging her while asleep, and as such, he bent forward to place a kiss on her forehead, the way he imagined his own parents might have at some point done for him.

And then she grabbed onto his neck. At first Harry thought she was hugging him, but her hands soon replaced her arms and, with all the massive strength of a servant, she accidentally choked him to death in her sleep. She herself faded from the world while she slept, blissfully unaware of how embarrassing their loss in the Grail War would be, all the way until a sarcastic young man with tanned skin and white hair made fun of her for it, over at the Throne of Heroes.

* * *

Gabrielle blinked. "That's not really his fault, is it?" she asked, "He was just trying to be nice, and she repaid him by choking him."

Dumbledore frowned. "It's debatable," he admitted, sighing, "he tried to get too far, too fast. Unfortunate, but this is what it is," explained the ancient wizard.

This made the quarter Veela at his side frown, confusion written into her features. "... That... doesn't make any sense."

"It will. Some day. Or maybe not. Probably not," Dumbledore said, shrugging, "So, we can't really give Harry a bad rating, this is merely one of those traps that even the most seasoned Visual Novel player falls into. Though for most, it's wholly intentional."

"All in all... Harry's score won't be affected by this death," Gabrielle said, shrugging. "You know, that Death would've been avoided if this was MY route..." she muttered angrily.

"About this route thing, I might have to stage an intervention... it's becoming an obsession of yours."

"If this is like that 'Heroin' thing, I told you, it was a typo, I meant 'heroine'," Gabrielle said, sighing in exhasperation.

"No, no, I've cleared up that issue with your parents already," Dumbledore said. "Oh. Right. We've got to close. Thank you for reading, everyone, this was the Dumbledojo!"

"Which has less and less to do with the Tiger Dojo every sunday," Gabrielle remarked.

"Shush, you. Now, about that intervention..."


	8. Knight of Treachery

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Knight of Treachery**

* * *

"I am Mordred, Son of King Arthur. And this, my master, is my story," Mordred stated, her lips quirking into a smile.

* * *

Mordred. The Knight of Treachery. These days, known only as one of those rare villains, the kind that can tarnish a glorious legend at the very end of their lives, those such as Fionn mac Cumhaill, who tarnished his own legend by allowing his envy to control him long enough to cause the death of Diarmuid of the Love Spot or Lu Bu Feng Xian, whose mastership of combat is only rivalled by his legendary treacherous disposition.

Once, she was a Knight, rivalling the likes of Gawain and Lancelot with her exploits, rivalling Bedivere with her devotion, loyalty and love to the King.

But she threw all of that away.

Why? Why would she lead the exemplary life she had lead, all the way until she betrayed the King and led to the fall of Camelot?

It all begins with Mordred's own origins. Shrouded in mystery at a time, today, her origins are well known to any who know of King Arthur and Arthurian Legend, although the grand majority would be flummoxed by her gender. Perhaps it is either a product of the sexism of the times, recording her as Male for they could not imagine a woman capable of the feats that she achieved with regularity. Perhaps it was a product of her hiding her gender so well that it was never discovered even after her Death.

The truth of the matter was that Mordred had never identified as a female, regardless of her body. She simply believed herself to be a man and acted as such, leading others to treat her as such.

As for her origins, thats where things get muddy and, for many, disgusting. Mordred... was the product of incest, son (or so she insists) of King Arthur and the King's half sister Morgan le Fay. More importantly, Morgan had utilized a spell to make this possible, taking the King's sperm and utilizing it to form what she believed would be a 'perfect' heir to the throne. As such, Mordred was raised as the Secret Male Heir to the Throne.

This gambit could've very well been Camelot's salvation, for King Arthur had produced no heir beyond Mordred. Many have wondered why this could ever be so, as the King had shown that he could, in fact, reproduce, so why couldn't the Queen? Had the King married a barren woman?

Well, the answer, according to Mordred herself, happened to be the fact that the King himself had a similar situation to her own. King Arthur had been born Princess Arturia, given up to Myrdin Emrys, also known as Merlin Ambrosius or 'That Old Perverted Jackass', who in turn gave young Arturia to one of the King, Uther Pendragon's, knights, who raised her as one of his sons. But that's another story, and Mordred didn't know that one very well, and thus could not tell it to Harry's satisfaction. Even though Harry had pressed for details on that one, Mordred simply did not have anything much beyond that, which her mother had told to her.

How Morgan had learned of that was beyond either Harry or Mordred.

Harry, at some point, mused that Mordred was not only the product of incest, but of lesbianism, as well. Mordred had confirmed that Merlin was to blame for King Arthur's ability to reproduce with a woman, whether temporary or permanent neither knew, being a thing that happened. Neither wanted to think too deeply on the details as to why Merlin would do such a thing.

Ultimately, Mordred explained her situation as best as she knew. She was born from Morgan, but she wasn't human. Instead of producing a proper child, Morgan had instead attempted to make the greatest possible heir she could, and succeeded in Mordred's opinion, and as such instead of a normal child, Morgan had instead chosen to turn the child she had with her 'brother' into a homunculus. Indeed, Mordred was a homunculus clone of the 'perfect' King. So, yes, Mordred looked exactly like King Arthur, for good reason. The coining process had led to Mordred inheriting a great deal of the King's ability with a sword, as well as the King's prodigious innate abilities.

Furthermore, a homunculus is innately far more powerful than a human in terms of magical ability, leaving Mordred with an explanation for her tremendous Prana reserves.

Unfortunately for her, not everything about the coining process led to a benefit. A Homunculus matures very, very fast, physically speaking, but her mental maturity did not match that of her body. Mordred was a child in an adult's body, and as such, innocent and naive. Worse, her lifespan was suitably shorter than that of a human being.

She was raised in secret, away from any and all prying eyes, away from the influence of any Morgan thought would be harmful to her plans, and told to obey the King without question until the time was right, though Mordred had never truly known what her mother had intended.

That was when she received her Helmet, Secret of Pedigree, which would conceal her identity even from scrying magic, and was told to never remove it in front of others. Had Mordred had the mentality of an adult at the time, she might have questioned her Mother, when she was told that it was her right to inherit the throne, when she was told that one day she'd have to defeat the King of Knights and take 'His' place in the throne of Camelot.

As it was, her childish innocence had led her to adore King Arthur. She worshipped the 'Perfect King', one who never lost a campaign and who maintained order and peace within her lands. Knowing that she had to one day betray the King was a great source of stress for her, who could not truly deal with it the way an adult could. As such, at the time, she chose to ignore her internal strife and decided to concentrate on the now, focusing on the present and acting as if the past was of no concern.

Under her mother's recommendation, she went to Camelot, to present herself to the King to become one of 'his' Knights. Through a representation of her superb swordsmanship and chivalrous mentality she became a Knight of the Round Table, being put on the same table as others of immeasurable strength and skill despite her unknown origins, and given a sword, a proper weapon, that befit one of the most elite Knights in the Country.

At the time, a naive Mordred upheld and protected the Way of the Knights with the kind of devotion and fervor that one can only truly see in a picture book for children, befitting her mental disposition back then. She worked hard, day and night, to be the ideal knight, but always, nigling at the back of her mind, was an intense dislike of others, of those around her. She could not truly grasp why it was that she disliked others so much, until the innocence of her youth was shattered by her mother, who revealed to her the secrets of her twisted birth.

Despite the circumstances that many would find disturbing and disgusting, upon learning of her parentage, Mordred was wrapped in joy, despite her shock. She could never again pass as a human, not to herself at the very least, she did not much care. Because she shared the blood of the King, she was the 'Son' of a superior being, and as such, she was proud of the fact that she was not human. This also laid a permanent worry that she had, that she could never be the heir to the throne the way her mother had insisted she was, to rest. Still, Morgan insisted that she would never be accepted by the King, that the King could never accept such a filthy child as 'his' own.

But Mordred knew that she was in name, reality, mind and body, fit to be the true successor of the King of Knights. Even now, she would readily tell you that she was not only the best possible successor to the King, but that she was in fact a superior option to the King, stronger than Arthur in matters of both rule and swordsmanship.

Harry had his doubts, but she was so confident in herself that she was actually kind of inspiring. Still, he felt as if she was lacking something, as if despite everything else, she was still missing something that would truly make her a worthy successor.

At that moment, Harry had an epiphany of sorts. "Do you wish to use the Holy Grail to become King?" Harry asked.

Mordred snorted, and her tone became imperious. "As if! No, my wish is not to take the easy route! I wish to challenge the sword of appointment! I wish to challenge Caliburn!" Mordred stated, her eyes narrowed.

"How are you so certain you could pull it out of the stone?" Harry asked, a frown on his face. "Your lineage and might... they might as well be meaningless to it," Harry stated.

Mordred scoffed. "I will not fail," she stated, having such a confident tone in saying so that Harry almost, almost being a key word, bought it.

Still, the human of the pair had remained silent after that revelation, allowing Mordred to return to her tale.

At the time, Mordred did not have the slightest feeling of rebellion. Spurred on by the truth, she had approached the King with delight. Raised fatherless, the King was the very image of a godlike 'father' to her, the one Mordred felt she should've had. But of course, in this kind of story, things never go so well that everything ends happily without conflict. Mordred was rejected, soundly, by the King. Mordred had been born from the King and Morgan's plotting, but that meant nothing in the face of the King, who would not recognize Mordred as 'his' 'son', or give her the throne that she deserved.

The king would forever view her as a dirtied child, from her conception, because of 'his' hatred for Morgan, and it would be impossible for Mordred to ever be accepted. That was the reason Mordred's title was the weakest, because no matter how hard she tried or even if she outdid each and every one of the King's other knights, that was what she would always be to the King.

The love that Mordred once had for the King now became the highly flammable fuel that made her hatred burn brightly and strongly.

Resulting from the falling out between the King and Mordred, distrust from the Round Table towards the King spread, aided by the scandal that had been Sir Lancelot's affair with Queen Gwynevere. People had started to realize that the King was not only far from perfect, but just as flawed as they were. Perhaps, even more flawed than they were. King Arthur had maintained peace and Order by keeping the image of the godly, invincible and perfect King that none could confront and achieve victory against.

As the Britons began to turn against each other, brother against brother, father against son, Mordred became the leader of the rebellion that had ignited after the King departed for an expedition towards Rome. The Knight of Treachery represented the national discontent towards the King, both because of his cold, heartless demeanor as well as the scandals that plagued Camelot's last days. Mordred led the rebellion until the King returned, whereupon she claimed that she was the only one that was fit for the throne.

The conflict eventually lead towards a final fight, the Battle of Camlann, where both armies confronted each other in heated battle, and died for the King that they supported. Soon, even the few knights that had stayed with the King began to die off, overwhelmed despite their prowess, leaving only Mordred and the fallen King standing.

By then, the battleground had changed from a grassy hill to a raging inferno, a sea of corpses and their weapons surrounding them on every side. Mordred thought it a fitting stage for the King's last battle, regardless of which of them perished.

The Kingdom had already perished, by then, and the victor of their fight no longer mattered. In the middle of the battlefield, the fight that would have once decided the Fate of a coutnry, now was a meaningless scuffle between Father and Son, merely Mordred protesting her Father's disapproval of her.

King Arthur had condemned her Country to death, because she hated the 'son of Morgan'.

"And then... Father had the audacity to lie to my face! Even as the world died around us, the so-called 'Perfect King' had the nerve to claim that I was the one unworthy for the throne!" Mordred said, her voice almost turning into a dangerous growl.

Presumably, that was when her version of the story met up with the one Harry knew about, and Mordred was killed by the Holy Spear Rhongomyniad, and King Arthur later succumbed to... her... own wounds and died after returning Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake.

"And... that's my story," Mordred said, shrugging. "But I will change it. With the power of the Grail, I will challenge Caliburn... and I will be King," she said, smirking when Harry had not actually contested her claim this time, until she looked at her master in the eye and saw something odd.

Harry was an easygoing boy, most of the time. He was mostly chill when dealing with normal, every day situations, and even extraordinary situations such as dealing with the Holy Grail Tournament. A defense mechanism born from being thrust into such situations too often for his comfort, born from being a bullied child for whom the situation only became worse when he wasn't, in fact, chill as ice, both at home or at school.

Therefore, it was odd to see him so oddly intense.

"You're lying," Harry informed Mordred, frowning.

"... What? Why would I lie?" Mordred asked, clearly surprised she'd be accused like this by the Master who had made it clear he didn't mind her identity just minutes before.

"You claim that you hated the King beyond anything else... but I've confirmed something. I've been dreaming about your past," Harry said, looking at her. "I assume you've been dreaming of mine."

Mordred nodded. "Only bits and pieces. I've seen your confrontation with the Basilisk, with the Dementors, with your teacher... and for some reason, your solitary confinement. I hadn't thought you'd be in prison so young but-"

"I wasn't," Harry said, shaking his head. "I see you don't really have context. I didn't either, but you gave me context when you told me your story. I suppose I should do the same. I was never incarcerated. What you saw was the cupboard that was my room until I was eleven years old," Harry stated.

Mordred nodded, almost stoically. She didn't have a pleasant childhood either, if Harry had to guess, and had probably omitted several important things, such as her feelings when she spoke of the circumstances of her birth. She was not proud of them, and even Harry could tell. Her poker face needed serious work.

"There isn't much beyond that," Harry admitted. "Still... you lied to me, Mordred. You said you hated your Father, the King... But you don't, do you?"

Mordred's eyes narrowed, and it was clear she was angry... nay, furious, by Harry's implication. "What could possibly give you that impression."

"I saw a memory of your death. I felt what you felt. The anger, the hatred, the pain... the shame, the sorrow," Harry began, looking at the ceiling, "I will not pity you. You don't deserve that kind of condescencion. As such, I will not allow you to lie to me, or worse, to lie to your self."

Mordred took a step forward. "Don't speak as if-"

"As if what, Mordred? As if I don't know pain? No, I don't truly know the extent of your pain, of your anger or your hate. But what I do know is what you felt when your Father drove Rhongomyniad through you. What I do know is what you felt when you died. What I do know is that the only thing you'd ever wanted out of that fight, was for the King to acknowledge you."

Possessed by her anger, Mordred's dainty, thin fingers grabbed onto Harry's Gryffindor Robes and lifted him up, leaving him with his feet still planted on the bed. Seeing this, Mordred swung him around, slamming him against a wall and growling as she closed the distance between them, growling in his face. "Do not test your luck," the Servant commanded. "You can still be replaced," she stated.

Harry seemed to be far from intimidated. "So you're just going to kill me?" he asked.

"I may, if you continue to speak nonsense," Mordred stated, her voice low and threatening.

"Then do it," Harry said. "Go through with it. Compared to you, I'm tremendously frail. Fragile, even. So it shouldn't take much effort from you to kill me. So do it," Harry dared her, glaring into her eyes. Once more, identical green eyes met each other.

Mordred pressed him harder against the wall, causing Harry to wince at the pressure put on his torso.

"You're escaping from the pain. You're escaping from the painful and harsh truth," Harry said, wincing again when Mordred applied even more pressure.

"What do you know!?" Mordred protested, glaring at Harry.

"I can't understand your pain, Mordred. I will never claim I can," the Master explained, looking into his servant's eyes. "I never knew my parents, but I know they'd love me unconditionally, and I am sorry that you could never have the love of a parent. While I was different from others, I found those who could accept me as I was. I can't understand your pain, Mordred, because while I was in your situation once, I was rescued from it. I found people to love me. I found people to accept me. I was saved," Harry explained, raising a hand and putting it, through slow, deliberately so, movements, on her shoulder, slowly moving towards her cheek. "Because I was rescued... it's my duty, to at least, offer you the same choice I had."

Mordred let him go, at which point Harry fell to the ground, landing on a heap, despite the fact that he should've fallen on his feet. A groan of pain told Harry that he'd taken more damage from her rough handling than he'd expected to. Her strength truly was immense compared to his. "Rescue me? From what? From loneliness?" Mordred asked, scoffing. "Don't be a naive little boy, Master. I know what I must do, I know how to change my situation for the better. I will become King," Mordred said, as if trying to put an end to the conversation. "Regardless, that is none of your concern," Mordred said, resolutely. "I should've never told you my story."

She hadn't been fishing for pity or compliments or anything of the sort. To her, the tale had just been her story, and she hadn't expected anything other than Harry nodding in acceptance of it, and then moving on.

But Harry couldn't just accept it and move on.

"Why? Why would it be none of my concern?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in question, looking up at Mordred.

"It doesn't affect our combat capability, and my life is my business, not yours," Mordred stated, simply.

Harry frowned. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked, standing up, wincing as his torso protested his every movement.

"Of course," Mordred said. "Do not overstep your bounds, and we will not have problems like this," she said, turning around and preparing to walk away.

It was then that she felt a pair of arms, thin -too thin, she realized-, go around her waist. "Of course your life is my business," Harry stated, burying his head in her golden hair. "You're my servant, but even more... you're my friend. I care about you," he stated.

Mordred stiffened at the contact. She was, no doubt, extremely unfamiliar with affectionate touch, probably had lived her entire life without being touched by anyone who loved her even once. It was at that moment that Harry realized why she had been so eager to maintain skin contact with him, at nearly all times. She had been a stranger to another's warmth, just as much as he was. To them both, it was a new experience to wake up in a bed warmed by another, it was a new experience to feel another's naked skin. "Let go of-"

"Never," Harry stated. "I care about you, Mordred. Please... don't do this to yourself."

With a little struggle, Mordred liberated herself from Harry's embrace and turned around, her expression one of anger as she prepared to sink the lesson into her Master that her life was her business and she didn't need either pity or sympathy from him. And she would've gone through with her intention to perhaps rough him up a little further, when she was shocked by witnessing the very first time she saw tears on someone.

Never before had she cried. Never before had she seen anyone cry, either. "Master, what are-"

It was then that she realized. Her master wasn't crying because of the pain that he was in.

Her master was crying for her.

The idea of someone being sad for her was foreign. The idea of someone crying for her was simply alien to her world view. "S-Stop!" she ordered, her imperious tone hindered by the fact that she'd stumbled, due in part to her shock and to the strange feeling that had gripped her heart.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Because you will not let yourself cry, I will cry for you."

"W-W-What!?" Mordred asked, shock gripping her so much that she had to take a step back. Why?

Why would anyone, ever, cry for her? Why would anyone use such a flimsy justification to cry? What use were tears, anyway? What did her master think he was achieving? And why... why did her chest feel so weird when her master's tears flowed?

"Why?" she finally asked.

"Because I care about you, Mordred. I don't need any other reason than that."

This time, when his arms wrapped around her, Mordred didn't protest.

Neither did she protest even though they remained in silence for the rest of the day, simply sitting in Harry's room, waiting until the time for dinner came.

It was not until then that Mordred said that she didn't want to go down to dinner that day. Even beyond the possibility of confronting Berserker again, she said she simply didn't feel like going down to dinner.

Harry understood, and as such, they remained in his private room. The grail provided and, where before there hadn't been one, now was an en-suite kitchenette, barely large enough for Harry to utilize it. Fortunately, the Dursleys' kitchen wasn't very big, and he didn't have to adjust too much to utilizing the one provided to his private room by the grail.

Mordred expressed surprise that Harry could cook, let alone cook well enough to actually feed her good food. Harry merely smiled and said that he was a man of many talents. In response, Mordred said that he'd make a good wife one day. They didn't have a table, though they had other furniture they could use and Mordred's prodigious strength to move it with ease.

"Master... I... I'm sorry," Mordred finally said, as the day came to an end and Harry set about washing the dishes before he could shower. He was washing them the way a muggle would, because he hadn't been able to convince Mrs. Weasley to teach him how to do it with magic.

"What for?" Harry asked.

"I reacted poorly, when you were just..." she trailed off in a mumble, clearly uncomfortable with the act, probably even the idea, of apologizing. It was most likely something that she had never done. It was cute, as she even blushed in embarrassment.

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said, drying off his hands and admiring for a second the clean dishes and utensils that were quickly dried and put into their proper place by his magic. That much he knew how to do, at the very least, from manipulating Wingardium Leviosa (levitate the water off, then levitate the plates into place, took less effort than vanishing the water or using a drying charm, surprisingly). "I knew you would react like that."

Mordred blinked. "Did you?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Hm... yes," Harry said, turning around. "I told you I found people who loved and accepted me. Last year, my Godfather escaped from Prison, and I spent last summer with him. At first, I was so happy I could explode. I was out of my relatives' home... but it didn't take long for the situation to put me out of my comfort zone. Even when I went to the Weasleys' home, I always kept to myself, and with so many children running around, it was easy for me to slip out of their sight so I could go off to brood alone," he explained with a smile. It was an odd combination of expression and words, and Saber clearly saw as much, but didn't interrupt. "But Sirius... he was focused on me. Solely on me. There was nobody else to take his attention away. I... didn't really know what to do. Eventually, he sat down with me and forced me to confront my issues and stop running away from them and him. I was afraid, because I didn't understand him or his motivations. I guess that, on some level, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to throw me away, or something. I tried to do the exact same thing you did, to tell him my story and be detached from it, so he'd just accept it like that and move on."

"It didn't work," Mordred said, frowning and looking at Harry as if she already knew the answer, which she did.

"Of course it didn't. When I saw it didn't, I tried to run away. Unlike you, I'm not super strong, so I couldn't really get away from Sirius, no matter how much I kicked and screamed. So he just held me there until I was exhausted, crying my eyes out like a baby whose candy's been taken away and telling him to leave me alone."

Mordred nodded. While they were different in what they had done, exactly, their overall idea had been the same. Both had tried to run away from the one confronting their issues. At this point, she was too emotionally exhausted to truly protest being compared to a sniveling, crying child.

"But in the end... he rescued me from the pit I was going down into. He showed me that there are people out there who really do care. Someone saved me. It was my duty... no, it was my privilege, to be allowed to save someone I care about from the despair of loneliness," Harry said, shaking his head and offering Mordred a small smile that was nonetheless the warmest expression ever shown to the Knight of Treachery. "I know it's been a short time we've been together... but even so... I want you to know that... you're not alone, Mordred, and never have to be alone anymore. Now, and forever... I'll be here for you," Harry said, offering her his hand.

She took it without thinking, before throwing her arms around him and almost tackling him with a hug. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, whispering sweet, soothing and encouraging words into her ear.

Emotionally, and physically, exhausted, it didn't take long for Mordred to finally fall asleep. Harry remarked, mentally, on how light the slip of a girl was as he carried her to the bed that originally belonged to him, the one they shared most often. As he prepared to simply put her down, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, the same kiss that he had hoped his mother had given him at some point, and tried to disentangle himself from her arms.

Still, even asleep the Servant proved her super human strength as she held onto him tightly, forcing him to share her bed once more.

Harry smiled and used his free hand to fish his wand from his pockets. While he wasn't an expert at vanishing things, it only took a few attempts to put their cloths on a pile next to the bed, and only another to pull the covers up so he could tuck both himself and Mordred in.

As he finally settled, Mordred nuzzled into his chest. "Papa~" she mumbled to herself in her sleep.

Harry smiled. If King Arthur could never be a father to this girl who had loved him so much... well, he supposed he might as well do his best to step up to the role.


	9. From King to Prince

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**From King to Prince**

* * *

Hermione Granger was not a happy person.

Odd, considering she was a teenaged girl. Weren't they supposed to be all about the giggling and the gossiping and the makeup, and talking about boys and celebrities and fashion and all that?

Well, Hermione had never had an interest in any of those things, growing up. She preferred a good, engaging book over knowing the latest rumors, didn't have the slightest clue how to apply make up and wasn't interested in learning about it, boys had always been disgustingly obsessed with gross things, annoying beyond belief or idiotic to her, celebrities... well, Hermione considered her crush on Lockhart the lowest point in her history and was resolved to never make a mistake like that again, even though for a brief time she'd had something to talk with her roommates about.

As for fashion?

Hermione was glad that the school had uniform robes, because it saved her from having to worry about actually choosing what to wear. It was a topic she simply had no interest in.

All those things added lend to her growing up friendless. The annoying, bookworm, know-it-all teacher's pet hadn't ever been popular.

Not even at Hogwarts, where she'd dared hope against hope her fate would change, that she would find herself amongst equals. Instead she was, once more, surrounded by pretty much normal people. Hermione knew she was extraordinary, but to her, it was not a good thing to be outside the norm. It'd come to a head when Ron Weasley's insult, which under normal circumstances would've been... actually not even close to the worst she'd ever heard, and she'd exploded, just wanting to cry out her problems for a while.

And then Harry Potter had convinced Ron Weasley to help him save her. Suddenly, Hermione had people risking their lives for her. And when she found herself doing something she'd never thought she'd do, lie to not one teacher, but the very headmaster's deputy...

Hermione found out that having friends was nice.

Of course, neither was perfect. Both were lazy bums who could do so much more than they did, but simply refused to work!

Still, she had friends, and she liked having them very much. That was all that was important.

Thus, Hermione didn't exactly like any given situation that could threaten the well being of the only people her age that considered her a friend. She didn't like the fact that one of her friends had found himself involved in a possibly lethal tournament. Not one bit. Oh, but she had known. She had known this would happen. She'd read up on the Tournament's rules and particularities, had looked up everything she'd need to know to aid Harry if she could, when he inevitably was chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Tournament or got picked by the Grail.

Lo and behold, she'd been right, and Harry was picked.

Sometimes, Hermione hated being right. She really did.

Since the moment Harry had been reported missing from their room by Ron, Hermione had immediately gone to the conclusion that he was picked to be in this tournament. She couldn't do much to discover the identity of Harry's servant. That card had to be played close to the vest, and Hermione understood the dangers of an unguarded mind. Plus, she didn't trust Ron's tongue, and it'd be unfair for her to know if he didn't. Same with the location of the private room he now slept in.

Still, she worried about her Best Friend, and he hadnt shown up for classes the prior day, or even Breakfast today.

Their plan was suicidal. Hermione feared that they had carried it out and it predictably ended with their deaths. But... No, she would trust in that Harry could watch himself, and that the slip of a girl he'd summoned, a heroic spirit who dressed in startingly slutty clothing, could protect him from anything. Both seemed to have confidence in the girl's abilities.

Once Harry failed to show for breakfast, though, Hermione's confidence in Harry's survival was beginning to decrease.

"Ron... do you think Harry's okay?" Hermione asked, frowning as she sat next to the redhead on the Gryffindor table, as he began to swallow his breakfast (which Hermione gave up on trying to identify, as there were so many things piled on top of each other that she didn't even care anymore).

"Hermione, you've asked me the same question five times, and I've already told you, I don't know!" Ron snapped at her.

She winced. She had asked that question several times, from the Common room all the way to the Great Hall. "It's just- I'm worried about him! We haven't seen since Lunch yesterday! He doesn't usually miss classes!"

"Maybe he's walking around with his invisible cloak trying to find the other Masters?" Ron mused. "It's what I'd do."

"Oh, yes, and you're assuming that Harry, whose plan for dealing with all his problems is 'charge forward and think of a plan on the way' would think of that," Hermione said, deadpan.

Ron frowned, then shook his head. "Listen, can we not talk about him right now? It's all you talked about yesterday, and it's all you've been talking about since this morning! He'll be okay, just stop worrying! Killing yourself with worry over it won't help him!"

"But Ron-"

"No, Hermione, stop already! I'm all for helping him, but life doesn't revolve around him, dammit!" Ron finally snapped, slamming his fists on the table to the sides of his plate.

Once more, Hermione winced. "Aren't you teh least bit worried?!" she asked, anger creeping into her tone.

"Merlin, Hermione, of course I am! But what do you want me to do? To annoy everyone by hounding them about him incessantly? We can't do anything about it! Either he shows up or we go looking for him. Give him some time, I'm sure he'll show up. Besides, he's probably enjoying some alone time with his servant. I know I would," Ron said, smiling almost lecherously as he did.

Standing up, Hermione scowled as she looked down at Ron. She didn't say a word, however, and just left the table.

* * *

It wasn't until they were not long for Herbology that she came across Harry, catching him on the way to the class. "Harry! Where were you!?" Hermione instantly went on the attack mode, stepping into his personal space, glaring at him, pointedly ignoring the Servant that merely looked amused at the display.

"My room," Harry said, flatly. "We ran into a servant. It didn't go well," he said, simply.

Saber nodded. Hermione frowned. "But you're unhurt, aren't you?" she asked, grabbing onto his robe and then patting him to see if he winced. In fact, he did. "You need to go to the infirmary... you're hurt," she said.

"I'm just sore," Harry said, "nothing to worry about, I took a few glancing blows," he explained, shrugging.

Saber seemed somewhat contrite at that moment, which Hermione interpreted to be her apology for letting a servant get close enough to land a few blows on Harry. She didn't buy that he'd taken only a few 'glancing' blows.

"Anyway, how about you?" Harry asked. "Anything new?"

Hermione frowned. "Ron's been... difficult," she admitted. "He got mad because I was worried about you. I swear, he can be so... so..." Hermione struggled to find the right words, but had to forcibly restrain herself from using any of the words that came to her mind.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, well, he has his moments," Harry said, shrugging.

Shaking her head, Hermione decided to let it rest, and they set off for herbology.

* * *

The class went off without much of a problem, the Hufflepuffs didn't really seem to care that Harry Potter was no longer even trying to be subtle about the fact that he had a Servant accompanying him. Harry at this point assumed that everyone already knew he was a Master. The Gryffindors cheered for the presence of his servant, as it was a symbol of how awesome they as a house were, since Harry was a Gryffindor like them, and he was a Master.

House pride, Harry supposed.

Professor Sprout had designated the partners for this class, they were supposed to change a plant whose name Harry hadn't paid a lot of attention to from water to a pot containing mostly water but also a little bit of mud, and in next class, they'd continue with this, learning how to replant more and more delicate plants as they went. So, same old, same old.

Only Hufflepuffs sat with members of their own house, as they were numerous, otherwise, the pairings were inter-house. So it was that Harry was actually partnered with one Susan Bones of Hufflepuff, a redhead with noticeable breasts (that was actually noteworthy, the robes were designed to conceal the students' bodies, so she had to have a really big chest for her age and size), instead of the one he would've usually chosen, Ron Weasley, who was in turn partnered with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry looked at Hermione with sympathy, as she was partnered with one Zacharias Smith, and if her expression was anything to go by, he was a dreadful conversationalist.

Susan seemed vaguely intimidated when Saber began to hover around them, instead of wandering the Greenhouse checking out the plants, and very nearly jumped into Harry's arms when Saber grabbed a plant that had jumped out at them, clearly in an attacking motion. Harry laughed when he saw it was a ridiculously stereotypical 'carnivore plant', complete with a very long stem that connected the plant to its base. "How many assassination attempts does this make? Four?"

"I don't think Berserker counted as Assassination," Harry noted, mildly.

Sprout was immediately in the scene, taking the plant off Saber's hands with a frown. "... This isn't a plant. It's a low level golem in the shape of one..." she said, handing it back to Saber. It disintegrated shortly after Saber grasped it.

Harry nodded. "Probably Caster's, then?" he asked, turning to Saber.

"Probably," the blonde replied, nodding.

"Excuse me? Somebody just tried to assassinate you and you're just shrugging it off!?" Susan nearly yelled, almost going into hysterics.

"Screaming at this point does no one any good," Harry noted, gesturing around. "I have to be calm, to think and to analyze the situation. This wasn't a true attempt at assassination. A low grade golem that had little in the way of offensive capacity and jumped out at me in the open where Saber could've stopped it any number of ways?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "Someone wants my attention," Harry said.

The Hufflepuff barely calmed down, but Harry's nonchalance eventually managed to calm the class, and they finished the lesson despite the frayed nerves of the people who had almost seen the Wizarding World's hero fall to an assassination attempt that had taken them all by surprise. Nobody, after all, had expected the moment chosen for assassination to be during Herbology of all things. No more excitement distracted people, and though the plants were not ruined, they were not transferred as well as they could've been.

Magic, especifically the magic of Sprout and Neville's green thumbs, managed to save several of the plants that would've otherwise died.

"H-Harry... can I talk to you later?" Susan asked, blushing as she looked at Harry, who simply nodded and smiled at her. "Okay... I'll meet you in the library, then? I'll go fetch my DADA books!"

It was at this moment that several people almost stumbled, as Harry waved at Susan, who went running towards her common room. Then Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked somewhat shocked. "... What? She mentioned to me that she wasn't doing so hot in DADA and I offered her a hand."

"Trap?" Hermione asked Ron.

"Trap," Ron confirmed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not everything has to be about the Tournament," he said, frowning.

* * *

"Saber, if anyone asks, don't tell," Harry said as he saw the humongous figure of what could only be a Servant. A large man dressed in a white shirt that was straining to contain the mountains of his muscles, jeans that barely fit his powerful legs and dress shoes. There was also a ridiculously large red leather jacket set behind him.

The man smiled. "Now, sneaking around is not my style, for sure, but this idiot," and then he gestured with his intensely huge arm -Harry was certain the man's arm was the size of Harry's torso- at a boy in Hogwarts robes, trimmed in yellow, that no doubt was his master. A Hufflepuff. Harry knew him. Cedric Diggory. "insisted on it," he continued.

Cedric sighed, a sound of deep seated despair and suffering. "I'm seriously considering bowing out of the war because of him," he gestured. "I was given his catalyst and I was really happy, because he sounded like a great Hero. But he's nothing like I expected. Still, no matter. Welcome to this humble empty room somewhere in Hogwarts. Susan led you here okay?"

Harry nodded. "I'm surprised she was serious about the DADA lessons, though," he admitted, shrugging. "I guess I can get right on that if I live through this encounter, right?"

The large man laughed uproariously. "I have no intention of fighting right now, little man!" he said, boastfully, leaning back on his chair. "I am Iskandar, the King of Conquerors!"

Cedric began bashing his head against the desk. "I told you to keep that secret!"

Iskandar merely laughed. "And I told you, it's pointless to!" he replied, shaking his head in clear mirth at his master's distress.

"You know, I agree with him," Harry said. "If your Heroic Spirit doesn't really have any weaknesses, clinging to secrecy is pointless."

Saber nodded. "Indeed. There is not much you can do even if you know my identity. I am Servant Saber, Mordred, the rightful heir of King Arthur."

Cedric blinked. "What."

"Oh, you've got Alexander the Great right next to you and you're shocked by Mordred?" Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.

Mordred's eyebrow twitched. "Are you implying something?"

Shaking his head, Harry laughed. "Of course not," he said, raising his arms in a placating gesture.

"Well, you certainly are a great deal more entertaining than the French lady and her Berserker, eh?" said Iskander, grinning like a moron. "Ah, it's a pity you never did become a King. Perhaps then we could have spoken as equals," he said, shaking his head, almost as if regretting how much of a shame it was.

Mordred scoffed. "I am more of a King than my Father ever was," she stated, removing her own red leather jacket and throwing it over a chair.

Harry noticed that Cedric had actually prepared a wine bottle and four cups set in a large, round table. It was inherently hilarious, and when Harry began to laugh, Cedric soon joined.

Both servants were puzzled, however.

"Mordred here," Harry began, "was a member of an Order of knights known as the Knights of the Round Table, and, well, this table is round," he said, gesturing to it.

"It looks nothing like the actual Round Table, though," Mordred mentioned with a frown.

Iskandar shook his head, but he was still smiling, seemingly amused about it himself, once he understood the reference. Soon, all four were seated and holding a cup of wine, which they soon clinked together.

Harry thought it was terrible, and voiced as much.

"It is," Iskandar agreed.

"Cut me a break, it was the best I could do on such short notice," Cedric said, clearly annoyed.

"I've had worse," Mordred commented, shrugging. "Regardless... Why did you invite us here, King of Conquerors?" she asked, pointedly.

Iskandar's grin turned positively feral. "Why, to challenge you formally, of course!" he said, as if doing such a thing was perfectly normal and to be expected in the Holy Grail War. "You pretend to be a King, little girl... then show me your mettle! Prove to me that you're worthy of the title!"

It wasn't long before Mordred's temper had flared up, and Harry groaned. "Oh, you had to go there, didn't you?"

"Little girl..? I am a man!" Mordred said, Clarent manifesting on her right hand, as she pointed it at Iskandar's throat, though the table was large and they were separated enough for him to be able to calmly look at it in admiration.

"Hm. A good blade - certainly. But it's a ceremonial weapon, isn't it? Regardless... I look at you and I see a little girl playing at being King," Iskandar mocked. "But that's okay! Everyone was a little kid playing at something when they began! Even myself, when I had no ambition!"

Cedric sighed. "I'm really sorry about him. He's uncontrollable," he spoke, shaking his head. "He refuses to obey me."

"Well, I don't think Mordred would obey me if I gave her orders. Have you tried suggestions?" Harry asked.

"I've tried everything," Cedric confirmed.

Both of them turned around to look at where Saber was attempting to wrap her comparatively tiny hands around Iskandar's neck, while he was keeping her away with one of his hands and was laughing boastfully.

"You know, when you told me she was the most famous traitor in British history, I had not expected her to be... well, like this," he admitted, gesturing at where Mordred was now shaking Iskandar, who was speaking incomprehensible gibberish because of the movement.

"It gets better. It's not only her," Harry said, "King Arthur? Also a woman."

To his credit, Cedric merely took half a minute to process that statement. "Seriously?"

"No kidding," Harry said. "Worse? Mordred's some sort of homunculus clone of her. So they look exactly the same, pretty much."

Cedric blinked, then looked at where Iskandar was dangling Mordred from one of her ankles just long enough for her to punch him in the dick, at which point he had to let go of her. She proceeded to continue the most childish fight in the history of Holy Grails by biting his nose, and Iskandar replied by grabbing HER nose to pull her off.

"That was a low blow!" Iskandar chastised.

"Be glad I wasn't in range to bite it!" Mordred threatened.

"This is a thing that is happening," Harry muttered.

"Wait. So King Arthur's not only a bird, but she's a damn fine bird at that?" the Hufflepuff asked.

"You making a move on my servant, pretty boy?" Harry asked, his face suddenly morphing into a stone mask that betrayed nothing.

"Wha- No I- how did you-"

Harry laughed.

It seemed, however, that both Iskandar and Mordred had finished playing around, exactly at that time, as Cedric was prevented from voicing his displeasure by hearing the clash of silver on steel. The servants had begun to fight in earnest, as they were both trying to push each other back, with mad grins on their faces.

"Should we stop this? I was actually going to talk to you about an alliance," Cedric admitted shamelessly, and Harry would agree with his disposition in this regard.

"It's probably best if they get it out of their systems. Having a good fight can clear up the air from tension," Harry said, sagely, from the experience of watching Ron and Hermione explode at each other all the time, yet remaining friends despite that.

"Now come, little Prince! Show me you've got the capacity to be a King!" Iskandar said, roaring as he threw himself forward.

Mordred seemed to have taken offense to something Iskandar had said, however, as she immediately charged, pressing her Prana Burst ability to the very limit. They clashed, and Mordred's augmented strength helped her drive the massively larger servant back.

"She's got a full rank on him on strength," Harry said, absent mindedly.

Cedric winced. "She's certainly got an edge in stats. Really lucky you got there, summoning a Welsh heroic spirit in Britain."

Harry shrugged.

Mordred smiled cruelly and stepped into Iskandar's guard, slashing upwards from the right, though Iskandar sidestepped to the right and avoided it, his face twisted into a look of surprise and, if Harry was seeing everything correctly, sheer excitement.

Harry's guess was confirmed when Iskandar readied his own sword, which like any good servant's weapon had come the very moment he'd called it, and grinned in clear appreciation. "You're strong," Iskandar commented, looking at Mordred. "I'm going to give you one chance to join my army! Together, we could conquer this world!"

Mordred scoffed. "There can't be two Kings!" she commented, rushing forward, sword first, and getting parried by Iskandar. She merely raised her leg and jumped, and this would've resulted in her planting her knee on his solar plexus, but his free hand moved fast enough to catch her, stopping her just before she delivered the debilitating blow.

"Too right," Iskandar admitted, launching himself into an attack, smashing the elbow of his sword arm on her nose, throwing her to the ground, and prepared to stab at her.

"Should we stop this?" Cedric asked, wincing as Iskandar went for a killing blow.

"They're having fun," Harry commented, as Mordred's leg shot up and landed on Iskandar's privates, forcing him to stop his attack, as the Prana-burst enhanced attack disrupted his footing, lifting him a few centimetres into the air.

Mordred brought her leg back and then bent both, then she planted her free hand on the ground and pushed herself up with all of her strength, hitting Iskandar's chin with both legs at once. Mordred finished her movement by rolling back, finally managing to get back on her feet just as Iskandar landed on a heap.

The larger servant didn't take long to get back on his feet, though, and despite the blood that ran down the corners of his mouth, possibly from biting his tongue when Mordred had hit his chin, he didn't seem to be too shaken by the kicks he'd taken.

"You'll do everything to grasp victory," Iskandar commented, as they began to circle each other in the small, somewhat cramped empty classroom, both making a point to ignore how their masters scrambled to get out of the line of fire.

"I'll punch, kick and bite if I have to! The honorable way of the knight is for idiots!" Mordred yelled. "In fact..."

Iskandar's eyes almost bugged out as Mordred's sword came flying at him like a silver rocket. He still reacted well enough to knock it out of the way with his own, throwing it upwards so that it stabbed itself into the ceiling, remaining lodged there, but he was left unprepared for the nearly-naked missile that crashed into him, making full use of her prodigious strength to deliver a series of devastating attacks with her elbows, knees and knuckles. It was, for a moment, clear to Iskandar that her small size and his large size were both factors in his inability to really defend himself against this kind of assault.

Iskandar laughed. "That's the spirit!"

Iskandar's body didn't allow him to truly defend himself against a small, nimble opponent in close quarters fisticuffs.

But his large, strong body provided him with enough endurance to weather the blows long enough for an opening to come, big enough for him to slash at her with the spatha in his hands. She kicked off him, avoiding the attack by nimbly twisting her body around his blade. Instead of stopping to comment, Iskandar roared a battle cry and went for an overhead vertical slash, forcing her to roll to the side. The attack was continued by a slash that went horizontal, causing Mordred to roll forward to avoid it. Iskandar pivoted and restarted his slash, extending himself a bit more than would've been advisable. In order to continue avoiding, Mordred jumped high, coincidentally putting herself in range of Clarent.

Both of her hands grasped the sword and she pulled, dislodging both the weapon and a few pieces of stone from Hogwarts' ceiling. Swinging down was only the natural progression of such a move.

Iskandar's eyes widened, as did his smile, but he nevertheless raised his sword to parry, though Mordred expected this and adjusted the direction of her attack so that it would diagonally hit Iskandar's own weapon, which would make it easier to keep Clarent from sliding and redirecting her attack's force away from Iskandar's weapon. Still, the large servant merely brought his free hand forward and put it on the flat side of the blade, utilizing all his strength to counter Mordred's, which was aided by the force of gravity.

The clash of both weapons was almost deafening, and the sheer strength sent a small shockwave that knocked the cups they'd been drinking from off the table, and the bottle of wine on its side, causing it to roll until it met its untimely end by hitting the floor, falling off the table.

They struggled, both trying to push each other into backing down, with mad grins on their faces, Mordred holding herself in the air merely by the strength she was pressing down on Iskandar, who refused to allow even an inch of ground to be lost.

"ENOUGH!" Harry yelled, dispelling the metaphorical bubble that had the servants in their own little world, enjoying combat way too much. The moment of distraction Harry's yell caused was enough for Mordred to lose focus enough that she was repelled by Iskandar's strength, and she quickly put her legs to the task of kicking off his chest, putting safe distance between them.

Neither servant broke the staring contest that ensued, nor did either of them lose their smile, even as their weapons disappeared. "Master," Mordred acknowledged Harry, as he approached her, not breaking eye contact with Iskandar even as she regarded Harry, "I believe I have finally found a worthy opponent."

"It's a shame you're not a King, little prince, for you could be a worthy rival for me! I can feel it in you... Yes! You have my approval! Go forth without falter!" Iskandar declared, crossing his arms.

Cedric frowned, walking so he stood next to his servant. "What do you mean? You aren't thinking of surrendering, are you?"

"Of course not!" Iskandar said, looking almost offended, "but it's much better to have proper competition! Tell me, little prince, what is the wish you seek from the grail?"

"I will challenge Caliburn, the Sword of Appointment, and PROVE to my father through it that I am worthy of the Throne!" Mordred said, haughtily, crossing her arms in an aloof fashion that showed her absolute confidence in her success.

Iskandar let out roaring laughter. "Hah! That's good, that's good," he said. "I had feared that your wish was to become King!"

"That would be meaningless, wouldn't it?" Mordred asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, it would," Iskandar said, calming down and closing his eyes.

"And what of you?" Mordred asked.

"I?" Iskandar began, smiling in such a way as if he was completely certain of himself and his convictions. "I will wish for a true incarnation," he said.

Cedric seemed to be shocked by this. "I thought you wanted World Conquest?" he asked.

"Idiot!" Iskandar yelled, smacking the back of his head. "Conquest like that is meaningless! Unworthy of even being considered! No, I will take the form of a real human, chained to this world by much more permanent means than the Grail, and then begin my path of conquest once more! I'm not like yourself, who would waste a wish on a mere frivolity!"

Mordred laughed, and even Harry smiled at Iskandar's boastful declarations.

"Speaking about frivolities, what DO you wish for, Cedric?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Me?" Cedric asked, frowning a little. "I hadn't really thought of it all that much. I guess prestige, fame and fortune aren't too bad," he said, shrugging.

Iskandar shook his head. "That is why, Master, I say that you are an idiot!"

"Oh, yeah?" Cedric answered, hotly, "you're just a moron who's still clinging to a stupid dream!"

"You're right, I am!" Iskandar said, sounding somewhat incensed by the dismissal of his person. "I'm an idiot who's been running after the same dream for two thousand years," he continued, sounding absolutely proud of said fact.

Cedric sighed. "See what I mean? He's impossible," he spoke, shaking his head. There was a slight smile in his face, as if there was something about the situation that he found somewhat amusing.

Harry nodded. "Sounds like a fun guy," he admitted, shrugging.

"As for you, Little Prince..." Iskandar began, pointing at Mordred, who frowned. "Before you can ever be King, you must first feel the greatest quality of a King... you must first realize just how small you truly are!"

Mordred's left eyebrow twitched and she scowled at the ridiculously tall servant. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Of course!" Iskandar replied, laughing, "but remember this well... before you can be the grand figure leading your kingdom, or empire as the case may be, to victory... First you must be an insignificant, hopeless idiot struggling for an impossible dream!"

The servants nodded at each other, a sign of mutual respect.

"So, about that alliance..." Cedric said.

Harry chuckled. "It's up to them, isn't it?" he asked.

The servants walked towards each other.

"I'll be the one to kill you. Personally," Mordred said, finally, a mirthless smile on her face.

Iskandar matched her expression. "Don't die until we can have our duel, at our best. No holding back," Iskandar said, offering his hand.

"Same to you," Mordred said, placing her much smaller hand in his, causing him to engulf her hand with his and then shake it in a firm handshake.

Harry nodded at Cedric and with a wave, he followed Mordred as she, with her head held high and a proud smile on her face, walked out of the room. He quickly caught up to her. "You okay?"

Mordred smiled. "I'll be."

"Are you considering what he said?" Harry asked, frowning slightly as they began to walk at a sedate pace.

The Knight smiled and looked up. "What do you think of what he said, Master? Do you believe his advice sound?"

It was a few seconds of silence before Harry answered, having fallen into a pensive mood. "Yes," he admitted. "I think that, in his own way, he was simply telling you to remember that you're a human, before you're a king."

Morded smiled. "I am not, and never was, human, Master," she informed, reminding Harry of her status as a homunculus.

"Does it matter?" Harry asked, shoving his hands into his robes' pockets, looking at the distant end of the long hallway. Harry sometimes wondered why the castle was so immensely large. Surely it'd be detrimental for its purpose as a school AND as a fortress. So why was it expanded so massively on the inside?

Had it always been intended to be a battleground for Servants? It'd explain the abundance of roomy and spacious spaces to battle in for Servants, Harry mused, as such large hallways, halls and all sorts of rooms weren't native to the fortress that Hogwarts was supposed to have been at one point, nor were they all that necessary for a school.

Mordred grunted and shook her head. "Perhaps we should go to an empty classroom? Prana Burst is intensive on my reserves," she admitted, freely.

Harry had told himself he'd be what Mordred needed him to be. Whether it be her father or her Prana battery, to him, the answer would be the same. "Of course," he allowed, nodding at his servant.

"Hm... As I said, Master, you truly do have a promising future as a wife," Mordred said with a smile.

Well, if she needed him to be a wife at times... he could fill that role, as well. Even if he did it under protest.

* * *

Holy shit that chapter ran way longer than it had any right to. Just like the last one, in fact. Huh. Oh, well. I shouldn't really add a Dumbledojo to this one, it's just way too long already, and I'm actually trying to keep Chapter Length at 4000 words for the most part (so far everyone seems to agree that's the best compromise), but I also don't cut off chapters before they're done...

Ah, what the hell.

DUMBLEDOJO, AWAY!

* * *

Dumbledore scrunched up his face in distaste before waving the Elder Wand, eliminating all the cobwebs that had accumulated over the time the Dojo had not been used. "Wait, we're in a dojo now?" he asked, before shaking his head. "We were only gone a few days to watch the Football World Cup finals. How DID this happen?" he asked, as he fixed the many props the show had never actually used.

Gabrielle came rushing in. "Sorry, sorry, I'm late! I forgot to clean up, and then Shelob moved here, and the place was a mess! We just got done moving the Hobbit guts out of the place, and hadn't had time to clean it yet! I'm sorry!"

Shaking his head, the Headmaster of Hogwarts sighed. "It matters not, Model Student, for through the most wonderful magic of them all, Narrative Convenience, I can return this place to its full splendor in but a cutaway gag!"

* * *

Seth McFarlane sneezed.

* * *

Looking around at the sparkly-clean, squeaky-spotless dojo, Gabrielle gasped in appreciation. "That was amazing!"

Nodding, Dumbledore blew on the tip of the Elder Wand. "Now, welcome to the Dumbledojo! Today, like last time, we will be undertaking some of the fan requests"

"We still have fans?" Gabrielle said, clearly amazed.

"Of course we do! Your loli charm is our secret weapon," Dumbledore said, passing her a letter.

"Now, here's a submission from one of our readers!" then Gabrielle blushed. "Oh my," she said, fanning herself. "Can... can we show this? We have it, of course, but can we show it? I know we're M-rated, but-"

"M, not MA," Dumbledore said. "A shame, my fangirls will never be able to appreciate the videos I have of my youth with Gellert," he said.

"We'll see what we can do about censors," Gabrielle said. "Still, production says it's okay, so here it goes!"

* * *

Bad Ending 6: But what a way to go!

In hindsight, Harry thought, Saber was a damned liar. Mordred had assured him she would not become addicted to his Prana. But she had, requesting transfers at nearly all times of the day, sometimes even interrupting his classes and refusing to let them continue until he snogged her fully in public. Even worse, she had begun to move on to more and more extreme forms of Prana Exchange Rituals.

All the way until the one she was intending to use today. Harry's clothes were off him before he could say 'wait no'.

Unfortunately, in her zeal to squeeze out as much Prana out of him as she could, she forgot that human bodies can't quite keep up with the strong body of a heroic spirit.

And so, Harry expired, with a smile on his face.

* * *

Gabrielle blushed brightly. "You guys couldn't see it, because it was censored, but I got to see the whole scene," she said, patting her own cheeks.

Dumbledore frowned. "I... can't take points off for this. He died happy, all things considered."

Shaking her head, Gabrielle pouted and stamped her foot. "But it's still a bad end! And... how did that even happen? What choice went wrong?"

"Actually, I'd say he built up too many affection points with Saber too early," Dumbledore said, nodding eagerly.

"Oooh, so we're going to punish him even if he's doing good?" Gabrielle asked, a gleeful expression on her face.

Seeing this, the ancient wizard looked somewhat shocked. "I thought you liked him?" he asked.

"Oh, of course I do! But Harry's at his cutest when he's suffering horribly!" spoke the younger of the duo.

"... You scare me..." Dumbledore admitted, taking a step away, snatching a letter out of thin air, and then passing it to Gabrielle.

"Well, this next one- Oh, great, it involves my slut of a sister," Gabrielle said, frowning in distaste.

"Seriously, that has to stop. She could sue!" Dumbledore said, frowning, "and I'm not going to fight Lawninja again."

"Pfft, whatever," Gabrielle said. "Show it!"

* * *

Bad Ending 7: And you thought the last was a good way to die...

"Well, zere is one way I could consider a... 'ow did you put it? Yes, alliance!" Fleur said, smiling brightly. "You see, Berserker? 'e is a bit of a Prana 'og, an' I just can't support 'im on my own..."

Harry blinked. "What are you getting at?"

"Oh. Quite simple, really- you will serve as an additional Prana source for Berserker, zrou me," she said, smiling.

That moment was when you could almost hear the seventies' porno music. Particularly when Harry felt Saber's hand upon his shoulder. "Oh ho, I hope you're not thinking of stealing my kingdom, you French tart..."

"Well, I never! I 'ave no intention of stealing, merely... borrowing," she said, the tail end of the sentence said with such a sultry tone that it almost caused an immediate boner on Harry.

"I believe I can accept under certain... conditions..."

Fleur licked her lips, as did Saber.

Harry felt like a small lamb, about to be put over the fire, and yet despite his fear, he was no doubt incredibly excited to be a part of such a deal.

Unfortunately for Harry, Fleur did not have an 'off' switch and Saber's Battle Continuation ability could be applied to more than just 'battle'. As such, he once more expired with a massive smile on his face, not regretting it one bit.

* * *

Looking dumbstruck, Dumbledore looked at the points counter that would've rated how the Bad End affected Harry's overall score. "... I think this is broken. It's showing a positive value..." he muttered, before striking it a few times.

Once he had finished tinkering with it, he unbound and ungagged Gabrielle, who was clearly still incredibly angry and fuming about the scene she had just seen. "I told you my sister is a total slut!"

"And now you're railing against her for actually USING the chance she got to sleep with whom you believe is the ideal man," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "Still, I believe Sirius Black's words are the best to describe this Bad End, and I believe in this case they would be 'Way to go, Harry!'"

Gabrielle pouted and turned aside, but was once more distracted by being handed another letter.

* * *

Bad Ending 8: You're not Ilya, and it shows

Instead of summoning servant Berserker, Fleur Delacour instead summoned Herakles as Servant Saber.

As a result, Harry summoned servant Mordred as Berserker. The massive rank up in stats and working purely on instinct helped Mordred drive off Assassin without her connection to her Master ever being disrupted.

Unfortunately, Mad Enhancement caused her to eat so much Prana that it killed Harry shortly afterwards anyway. Maybe if she hadn't activated it in sheer disgust over being summoned by a sniveling little boy, she wouldn't have wound up ruining her own chances of victory.

And then everyone ate Tacos at dinner. Because.

* * *

Dumbledore blinked. "What's the moral in this one?"

Gabrielle blinked, frowning. "Never trust What If scenarios?"

The elderly man nodded, sagely, stroking his beard. "Still, it shows the perils of straying from the Plot Rails. That's only allowed when it will cause the writer to find another, more interesting way to achieve his goals," he spoke, gesturing towards the script hidden just off camera.

"That's it for Chapter 7's suggestions, isn't it?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes, indeed! Now, here's a new segment we're gonna call: We Don't Have A Name For This Segment Yet But We're Gonna Think About One Soon: The Movie: The Game: The Movie of the Game!" Dumbledore stated, cheerfully.

"Now that's a mouthful of a name," Gabrielle said, blinking as she tried to remember it fully.

"Well, yes, that's why it needs a new name. Anyhow, in this here corner, we shall answer questions that are submitted to us, which usually the Author would answer, but he's a lazy bum so it falls to us instead."

Hearing this, Gabrielle nodded. "But what about the questions that contain spoilers about the plot?"

Without breaking his cheerful tone, Dumbledore turned to answer. "That's the beauty of it: We will simply not know the answer in that case. While the author would have to deliberately not answer the question, we can get away with not giving a satisfactory answer because we can't spoil a plot we don't know yet!"

"So the author is just washing his hands off this duty?" Gabrielle asked with a frown.

"Pretty much, yes. Now, this was actually made in response to reader suggestion, so at least we can say that he's listening to the people's cries, can't we?" Dumbledore asked.

"Or he's just fishing for reviews," Gabrielle grumbled.

"Now now, since this is a new spot and people didn't know about it, we only have one real, pertinent question to answer. Here, have the question," Dumbledore snatched a letter from offscreen and handed it to Gabrielle.

"Mordred was raised by Morgan le Fay, right? Then, shouldn't 'he' know some magic?" Gabrielle read off.

Stroking his beard, Dumbledore took seat in a plush arm chair. "The truth of the matter is, Mordred's magical education was limited to what was absolutely necessary for her to know. Magical beasts she might need to slay, magical plants which could prove beneficial or harmful, that sort of thing. Morgan never taught Mordred any real wizardry despite Mordred being capable of it and even being inherently good at it due to her status as a homunculus simply because she wanted Mordred to be as similar to King Arthur as possible. Morgan does seem to have a rather creepy obsession with her half-sister."

Gabrielle nodded, smiling brightly. "Okay, then! This should bring this instance of the Dumbledojo to a close, right?"

Dumbledore agreed, bowing to the audience. "We wish we could have tackled Chapter 8, as well, but we are running low on time and space, so this shall have to do for now. As always, I bid you farewell until the next time we meet, at the Dumbledojo!"

"And the Corner of Answering Stuff," Gabrielle added helpfully.

"Still needs work..."


	10. Have Fun Storming the Temple

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Have Fun Storming The Temple**

* * *

Harry frowned. "Archer hasn't given up yet, has he?"

"It's still as unsubtle as the last time," Mordred commented, eyes closed as she instead used her other senses to warn her of possible incoming attacks.

It wasn't long before they came upon an unlocked door. They skipped three, for they were locked in such a way that Harry couldn't use Alohomora to open them, and while he could just have Mordred break the door entirely, they ran the risk of finding one of the walls that was just pretending to be a door. These lead nowhere, after all.

They weren't in a hurry by any means. Archer seemed to just be watching them, as if waiting for them to do something that indicated they knew of his presence, though it was fair to assume he knew they knew, and as such was simply hoping that they would attempt to lead him into an open area he couldn't hide in to fight, which he would then trump in some way.

Joke was on him, because Mordred dragged Harry into an empty classroom and locked the door behind them, almost instantly latching herself onto him and locking their lips together, hungrily draining away Harry's prana, refilling hers. Of course, she had to do it in such a way that it sounded as if they were fornicating inside the room... but then again, she made those noises every time she drained Harry's prana in such a manner. Her hands roamed and Harry was struck completely silent, his mind on nothing other than Mordred's hands on his body.

Fifty seconds after the kiss had commenced, they parted, and Mordred was flushed, breathing heavily, looking as if she'd just run a marathon. Even her jacket was disheveled, and her hair was a mess, having fallen out of the mess she tied it into and instead falling down her back.

She seemed to want to return to her actions, so Harry quickly placed his hands on her shoulders, and as she was a little taller than him, it was less comfortable than he would've wished. It was ridiculously hard to keep her from simply bearing down on him, but she desisted when he pushed her back a little. Her whine upon being denied more prana was almost too cute for words.

It didn't take long for her to regain her senses, however, and she shook her head, before grabbing her hair and once more pulling it back, setting it in a messy ponytail that looked like someone had told her about the idea of tying her hair in a bun, but she hadn't ever quite managed it.

"Your prana is delicious as always," Mordred complimented, blushing in embarrassment at the poor display she'd just given.

"Good to know," said Harry, drly, "try not to drain me dry," he added.

"That would be bad," Mordred said, frowning. "I... don't want to lose you, Master," she admitted, looking at the ground.

Harry placed a hand atop her head, careful not to break the precarious arrangement of her hair. "You won't," he confirmed, "I'll be here for you, whenever you need me, I swear," he added, seeing as she had locked eyes with him, looking almost... scared.

With a winning, confident smile, Mordred nodded. "I'll hold you to that. When I am King, you shall be my aide, my right hand..."

Harry nodded. "When you're ready, I will help you achieve your dream. For now? Let's just concentrate on winning this war, okay?"

"Very well... my queen," Mordred spoke.

There was a silence of a single second, as Harry processed what Mordred had just said. Then he looked at her.

And she looked at him. Immediately after, she burst into loud, roaring laughter. "You should've seen your face," she muttered, mostly to herself.

"Fuck you," Harry said, pouting at her.

"Anytime, Master," she answered, cheekily. "I'm all for restoring our connection properly."

"Sorry to pop in unannounced and ruining your marital spat and all, but if you could stop ignoring me, I would be thankful," a dry, sarcastic voice said from the place where the teacher's desk would otherwise be, where only one chair could be found, and in it, sat a man in green leather armor with a darker green cloak covering his shoulders and back. The only break from the monontonous green was his fiery red, almost orange, hair. He had an easy smile on his face, as if he wasn't worried that he was sharing a room with the Servant Class said to be the strongest amongst the Seven, for good reason.

Harry and Saber yelped, realizing they'd lost themselves in the moment, having used it to restore Saber's Prana before the inevitable fight that would ensue between her and Archer if things went the way they were going.

"Oh. This is just great," the man muttered, shaking his head, "you really were unaware of my presence? I wasn't even hiding. You must really suck. Were you really THAT concentrated over boya's boner poking you, Saber?"

Harry yelped.

"It felt very nice," Mordred said, holding her chin up and upturning her nose at the stranger. "With the pleasantries out of the way... servant Archer, any reason why I shouldn't disembowel you where you sit?"

Archer raised his hands, showing that he held no weapon. "A few, actually. One of which is that the poison I injected your Master with some time ago is still in his system, and if I activate my Noble Phantasm, then he'll die," he spoke, shrugging with a smile, "and the other? I've come in peace."

"That is just another reason to end your existence right now," Mordred noted, "If you fade, so will the Noble Phantasm you've used to poison my Master," she spoke.

"You willing to risk your master's life? What a bitch," Archer said, shaking his head as if in disapproval. "But I'm a nice guy, see? And I can tell you what the poison is and how to counter it. All you have to do is listen to me for a sec."

"I'm listening," Mordred said, plainly.

"You don't have to worry about me, Saber," Harry said, frowning. "I'll be okay. If a Basilisk couldn't do me in..."

Archer whistled. "A basilisk bit you?" he asked. "An old one?"

"Nine hundred and sixty years old, from what I'm told," spoke Harry, nodding.

"Ah. Very, very potent, but hella slow," Archer answered.

"This form of poison is no doubt his Noble Phantasm, or a facet of it. No doubt it doesn't behave like normal venom should," Mordred summarized.

"You've got that right. Though you seem to have pretty good resistance against the effect it has when it's just dormant in your bloodstream, the moment I activate it, your heart will be paralyzed instantly and you will die. But I'm impressed. Honestly, I half expected you to be a sniveling little brat begging me not to kill you by this point," Archer admitted freely.

"After having been targeted by Berserker, I'm really not all that bothered by coming this close to death. No offense, but you just can't compare to him," Harry said, shrugging.

Mordred nodded, agreeing in that Archer, despite his tricks, simply did not measure up to the meance of the two and a half meters tall gray mountain of muscle that dwarfed even Iskandar.

Archer chuckled, and shook his head. "Regardless, let's get on with the show. What I want here is very simple. I need your help."

With a scoff, Mordred crossed her arms. "Good way you have of gaining allies, this. Poisoning them to force them to work with you in hopes for an antidote? Despicable."

"You're not the first one to call me an honorless dog," Archer said, raising an eyebrow, "but then again, you're not very knightly yourself, are you?"

"Tche," Mordred's eyes narowed as she looked at the redhead servant, "I'm all for convenience and pragmatism."

"So you're a hypocrite, too? Pragmatism is only okay when you're the one benefitted?" asked Archer, crossing his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"As if! No, I am merely annoyed at your counter productive measures," Mordred explained, clearly angry. "Had you not done something as stupid as attacking my master, he might have been inclined to hear you out. He's got a bit of a hero complex," she admitted freely.

Archer sighed. "I can't depend on your good will. I'm an enemy, after all. Still, you're my best option for this matter. Well, actually, my best option was Frenchie and that monster of a servant of hers, but there's no way I'm going to get those two to agree to help me."

"What do you want help with?" Harry prompted, his expression and stance guarded, as if expressing disbelief.

"My master did something stupid and got herself captured by Caster. I have no idea why Caster is keeping her alive, but she is. Maybe as a Prana battery. I don't know nor do I care. What I do care about is getting her back before my loss is decided. I'm not done in this war yet," he explained.

"Sounds bad," Harry admitted, frowning.

"But what do we get out of this arrangement?" Mordred asked.

At this, Archer grinned, knowing that they'd already bitten the hook he'd sent them. "You're Saber. You're uniquelly suited to fighting Caster. I'll give you everything I know about her capabilities and her current hideout. You don't lose much, and you get the opportunity to remove a possible threat to your Master from the war. That, and he gets to live. I don't need to be present to activate my Noble Phantasm and kill him with it."

Gritting her teeth, mordred nodded. "I suppose we have no choice."

"Good, good," Archer said. "Now, whenever you're ready, meet me behind the Gamekeeper's hut at the edge of the forest, I'll brief you on her abilities there. She's hiding in the forest. We'll charge in, kill her, get my Master out, and then I'll remove the poison from his veins. Don't dawdle."

Harry and Mordred both nodded.

* * *

"So... what are the chances of THIS being a trap too?" Hermione asked, leaning back on the plush sofa that hadn't really been there before. Harry whistled at seeing her Conjuration, knowing that she was doing stuff way out of what they'd learned on the curriculum, even if she wasn't doing it with the distinct flair Dumbledore did.

"Pretty big," Ron admitted, after a few seconds' thought. "He might very well intend to sell you off to this Servant you're supposed to be fighting together. He could've lied about his Master, or he could've even been the victim of a similar scheme. If Caster really does have his master, wouldn't she have him under her thumb?"

"Archers have Independent Action," Saber spoke, looking at Ron. "It basically allows them to survive without a Master by reducing the amount of Prana they leak by existing, so it basically allows them to ignore their Master's orders. If this one has a sufficiently high rank, he could very well be scheming against Caster."

Hermione nodded. "Sounds like what I'd do. Pretend I'm well and properly cowed until I could turn the tables around," she said, looking at Harry.

"What are your thoughts, Ron?"

"I still think it's too convenient that he happens to need you specifically. He's already tried to kill you, and he's admitted he's basically got an instant kill collar on you," the redhead said, shaking his head. "You can't really lose much more time, though, and can't really step outside of this if it really is a trap. Unless he's bluffing, but..."

"It's too big a risk to check," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Regardless, you'll have to go."

Harry nodded.

"Worst comes to worst... Gryffindor will defend you, Harry, you can always hide in the tower," Hermione said, nodding. "Just... remember, running away from a fight you can't win isn't cowardice."

Mordred frowned, but nevertheless, they led Hermione and Ron out of the room, blindfolded as usual, and then set off to the forbidden forest.

* * *

"Well, you took your sweet time getting here," Archer grumbled the moment they arrived, almost melting off the grass surrounding Hagrid's home. Whoever he was, he was clearly some kind of hunter, very much used to the wilderness, so much so that he could blend into grass that his cloak wasn't the right colour to blend in without any issues whatsoever.

"We're here, aren't we?" Harry replied, crossing his arms.

"Yes. You are. Now, listen to me, I'll tell you all I know about Caster, and then I'll need Saber to lead the charge. Her magical resistance should be enough to render Caster mostly ineffective against her. Try to stick close to either Saber or me, boya, because it's likely Caster's got some sort of minion patrolling the forest. She's got access to all the creatures in this forest, and it's very likely she's taken some of them as familiars."

Harry winced at the thought that crossed his head, of the colony of Acromantula being turned into Caster's minions. He'd already had enough trouble with them two years ago and didn't need a repeat of that, considering he'd gotten out of there entirely through massive luck the first time.

Deciding to get on with it, Archer launched into a briefing of Caster's abilities.

Caster seemed to be a witch of immense power. She could cast ridiculously fast without actually using her Prana, simply saying a word that produced a certain effect. Physically speaking, she was pitiful, though still far beyond your standard human due to her ability to reinforce her physical capabilities if she absolutely had to. She also seemed capable of high speed teleportation that didn't seem to have the usual after effects that made Apparation in combat completely impossible, so it was fair to expect her to Teleport Spam in order to dodge attacks.

They were wandering into a fortress, because her ability at creating her own territory was prodigious enough that she could create an area that she designated as a Temple of her own, in which she could perform research and item creation far beyond the capabilities of modern witches and wizards.

All in all, they would have to put confidence in the Saber Class' ability to force combat to go into melee range, and Harry would have to remain close by to ensure he wasn't picked off by Caster's Master or her minions that were no doubt patrolling the forest looking for anything out of place.

It wasn't very long after they set off that they came across half a dozen familiars. Three massive, humanoid wolves... Werewolves that had lost all sense of reason, forced to remain in their changed forms by the runes that glowed in their chests, where they'd been carved. Caster was apparently pretty damned good at magic, but bankrupt in terms of morality.

There was also a large unicorn, though it had clearly been raised from the dead as it seemed to move almost robotically, which was being ridden by an armored skeleton that carried a lance with a design similar to the spiralling horn the Unicorn's forehead sported.

The last was a distinctily humanoid, yet somehow reptilian, skelenton wielding a massive sword which it dragged behind itself, almost shambling forward like the usual depiction of a zombie would.

For two servants, they weren't much of a challenge. The three wolves had pounced on Mordred first, but she hadn't been caught by surprise. Clarent's silver blade was absolutely lethal to them, and when she split the first in half, from shoulder to hip, the other two renewed their ferocity. Their strength and agility, augmented beyond that of a normal human, could not compare to Mordred's Prana Boost, which allowed her to quickly put an end to the Werewolves' misery, as it required only small cuts with Clarent. The second werewolf was decapitated when it tried to lounge and bite at Mordred, while the last had flinched in fear of the silver blade and remained still long enough for Mordred to slice its limbs off before separating its torso from its legs.

Archer had jumped into the treetops, becoming invisible in the greenery, and began peppering the unicorn rider with arrows, soon hitting the Unicorn's knees and preventing it from moving entirely. "Hm, I've never hunted one of these," Archer admitted as he was jumping from three to three, keeping the rider guessing at from where the next shot would come from. It couldn't block a shot directly from behind, however, and it was sun obliterated as the arrow tore through its spine, disintegratng the part where it connected to the skull and dismantling the rider, while at the same time continuing on to impale the back of the Unicorn's head, where one of the runes of the array that gave it life was, destroying it utterly and ending the spell that kept the unicorn corpse animated.

By contrast, the only one who actually had a difficult time with his enemy was Harry, as despite its shambling movement, the skeleton that was left had quickly sprinted towards him, swinging the massive cleaver in an attempt to split Harry in twain, but the Boy Who Lived continued to do so by jumping out of the way. He swung his wand and cast the most basic combat spell he knew, the disarming charm, which knocked the cleaver off the Skeleton's hands. However, it quickly recovered its weapon and once more lounged at Harry, failing once more to hit him, though Harry had to throw himself to the ground because he couldn't move fast enough to dodge the frantic attack. He swung his wand forward and cast a banisher, knowing only the barest basics of it from Hermione's rants about how useful the Summoning and Banishing charms were and how he and Ron should try to learn ahead of the game like her.

Maybe she had been onto something.

Harry's miscasted Banisher didn't do more than make the skeleton stumble back, but it was enough to prevent a killing blow.

Saber quickly moved, once she was freed from the Werewolves, to put an end to the threat to her Master, crushing its skull with one punch. "Hm. This is weak. Have we overestimated Caster?"

"No," Archer said, shaking his head. "You've got a weapon made of silver, otherwise those werewolves would've been a real threat. She's boosted their resistance to incredible levels, enough that they can shrug off my arrows, even poisoned, unless I'm activating my Noble Phantasm. We got lucky in that regard. I'm also used to taking out riders in their horses. Knights on horseback are ridiculously vulnerable to someone like me," the green man said with a grin, gesturing towards himself.

"Cutting curses and stunners are useless on golems like that skeleton," Harry mused, frowning at the pile of dust that had almost killed him. "Let's move on."

This wouldn't be the only roving band of things that they'd met, and Mordred killed two more werewolves, three unicorns, four overgrown mosquitoes and about a dozen acromantula before they could get to where Archer believed Caster's temple to be located, an old shrine to a forest spirit that was long gone. Indeed, the incredibly potent bounded field around it pretty much told them that Caster was making her fortress there, and was even expecting visitors.

The Saber Class' high magical resistance allowed Mordred to tear the bounded field apart with impunity, allowing them to perceive the empty shrine as it truly was, a mess of broken down walls that had been magically reinforced by magic, and an invisible ceiling to keep the elements and jumpers away from crashing Caster's party.

There was a latch in the middle, hidden just in front of the statue of a dryad. "This is it," Archer said, frowning. "She's down here. She probably knows we're coming. We need to do this quick before she decides to kill my master for my betrayal," he added.

Both Mordred and Harry nodded. Mordred opened the latch, tearing it from its hinges, and jumped down, knowing that her magical resistance would help her avoid and dismantle any traps in her way without risking her master.

Harry prepared to jump after her once she gave the okay, absent mindedly readying his wand for a cushioning charm on the floor when he was about to hit it (Oliver Wood had taught it to Harry in an effort to reduce the amount of Quidditch related injuries in Harry's medical history).

"Thank you for being such a gullible pair of idiots," Archer said, all of a sudden, causing Harry to gasp as he felt one of Archer's arrows being buried into his back. "Sweet dreams," he muttered, and the world went black.

* * *

Harry's eyes opened slowly, before closing suddenly as bright lights forced them to. Nausea overtook every one of his senses, and he felt as if he was about to lose his breakfast. It took a minute, but he finally felt his body convulse as it tried to twist into proper position to vomit, though it found it couldn't, as it had been heavily bound to a wall. He vomited all over the floor and himself, feeling his eyes tear up and his body suffering through the aftershocks, dry heaving still even ten seconds after clearing the contents of his stomach.

He heard someone click their tongue and he tried to focus his swimming vision to make sense of the silhouette put in front of him, but he couldn't discern who it was that was standing in front of him. The sole indicator of identity was a somewhat feminine laugh accompanied by a feminine voice that said "Scourgify", cleaning the vomit that stained the front of Harry's body. It was not a pleasant feeling, as that charm hadn't been designed for use on human bodies, and had also taken one, perhaps two, layers of skin to go along with the filth it cleaned.

It made Harry's dizzy spell even worse, to say the least.

"Ennervate," he heard, through the haze, and he could feel the spell working to clear it, but everything was still slightly fuzzy at the edges, the colours were kind of dulled and things were fully out of focus, so he could only barely see that the person attending to him was most likely human. The clothes were muggle... a suit, in fact, if Harry's eyes saw it right. "Are you aware enough to listen? If you can hear me, nod."

A slow movement of the neck was all Harry could do to comply with the request.

"That's good. For now, try to rest. You will need all of your energy."

Harry wondered who this person was. Was this person the Master of Caster? Who was it? A man? A woman? It sounded feminine, so it was likely a female. Was she here to help him? If so, why wasn't she untying him so he could escape? If she wasn't, then what was she doing there?"

"I will wake you up when it's time to eat. Until then, rest and regain your strength."

It didn't take long for Harry to heed her advice, as he was exhausted... no, beyond exhausted, he was having immense trouble remaining awake. Soon enough, he fell asleep, despite his uncomfortable position. Still, even as he collapsed into unconsciousness, he wondered... Where was he? What had happened? The last thing he remembered... Archer!

Mordred! He had to know if Mordred had made it out okay! She had been forced to wander in after Archer doublecrossed them.

Bound as he was, Harry could only hope that Mordred was safe.

The last thing he heard as everything faded to black was someone's footsteps as they were growing ever more distant.

* * *

Dumbledore blinked. "Wow. That sure went to the crapper quickly," he spoke, frowning.

Gabrielle was weeping openly. "He's gonna die, isn't he? The Author has said that he likes playing with expectations and outright lying, so it would only make sense for him to kill off the Main Character, right? And there's the whole Fate/Extra vibe. Could Harry be the decoy protagonist?"

At this, her ancient partner shook his head. "It remains to be seen, young one. For now, we have other duties that call to us, yes... Despite the danger that Harry's in right now, he could've died any number of times before he got here! And it's because of this that I, Albus Dumbledore, hereby declare that the Dumbledojo shall prevail over all those other low rate shows and continue forth!"

Sobbing and dabbing at her wet cheeks with a napkin, Gabrielle nodded, before she used the same napkin to blow her nose. "Yay," she said, unenthusiastically, still looking somewhat shaken.

"You know, one would think that, having seen him die so many times and in so many stupid and gruesome ways, she wouldn't react like this... huh. Maybe this is his permanent death?" Dumbledore mused, before snatching a letter away from nothingness, and presenting it to Gabrielle.

The little Veela looked shocked. "There's... nothing here?" she asked, looking somewhat surprised.

"That can't be right, can it?" Dumbledore asked, taking the letter from her and reading it himself. "Oh dear. We have no reader suggestions from Chapter 8? Have people lost faith in us this much? Ah, let me check... Oh dear. There wasn't anything for us in Chapter 9, either."

"I knew it! We're getting cancelled!" Gabrielle wailed. "Everything is going wrong at once! The world is gonna end!"

"Calm, Gabrielle, remain calm, please. It is just in this one opportunity, it seems that nobody could think up of any horrible ways for Harry to die as a result of stupidity or acting out of character, and the Author is too lazy to do it himself."

"But what are we gonna show our fans?" Gabrielle asked. "I've got some pictures of Fleur modelling in underwear, or some of her I got from when she made it with the National Quidditch Team, or-"

Dumbledore blinked. "Wait, that one's your mother, isn't it?"

"Holy crap, it is?! Hot damn, way to go, mum! I wonder if dad knows about it?"

"I'm sure he does. He's right there in that picture, see? He was the coach back then, if I'm not mistaken..."

"Huh. I've seen my father's penis. And frankly, I am not impressed," Gabrielle said, looking only mildly disturbed by the image.

Dumbledore took a step away from her, looking somewhat affronted.


	11. Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part II

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part 2**

* * *

Mordred instantaneously growled, quickly reaching the depths of anger that qualified her for the position of Berserker, crouching as she landed. "Backstabbing son of a-" she managed to get out before her instincts screamed at her and she burst into movement, ducking and avoiding a red blur. Immediately, she went into the offensive, elbow first, but found no target as her enemy retreated to outside her relatively short limbs' striking range. Clarent proved useful as she continued her attack to swing, eyes narrowing as she perceived a spearman in blue, wearing an excited grin, her armor manifesting halfway across the swing.

He met Clarent with his spear, parrying expertly and forcing her swing to go wide of his face. With a few quick movements, he struck her chin with the butt of his spear, forcing her back, then grasped his weapon with both hands and drove it forward, intending to impale her exposed neck, but her hand came up in a Prana Burst powered movement that allowed her to grasp the red spear before it could put her out of the fighting permanently.

She pulled him along, using his own strength against him, at the same time pulling him off target. He stumbled forward, refusing to let go of his spear, and she lifted her leg, forcing him to stop suddenly. He doubled over but didn't stop moving, as one of his hands was freed from holding the spear and quickly went to slap her greaves.

At that moment, Mordred felt the magic that went into weaving her armor flicker for a second, and instantly knew that her armor was made brittle, as the enchantment that held it together was weakened. With a grunt, she used another prana burst, this time to kick him off. This one was a runemaster, no doubt. Was he Caster? No, Archer had said Caster was female, but... he'd just finished backstabbing her master, quite literally. She couldn't trust his word at all.

She charged forward. First she'd defeat this Lancer. Under other circumstances, she would've enjoyed the challenge that he posed, and he really was an incredibly gifted spearman, beyond any she'd ever seen before. Even her father's skill at wielding Rhongomyniad paled in the face of this man, and Mordred, despite her conflicted feelings about the 'Perfect King', could at least recognize King Arthur's immense skill at wielding her holy weapons.

The tightly cramped quarters of the passage that Lancer had chosen as the spot for their battle meant she could not advance further, but that was no problem, she wanted to go back. She could deal with this Lancer quickly, provided he wasn't Caster as she was half starting to suspect, by collapsing abusing the fact that his weapon was longer and harder to utilize in their location.

Or she would have done that, if the man hadn't more than made up for that with his immense ability at wielding his spear, even in the unorthodox way he was forced to do it due to the space constraints. "Heh. Too bad we can't have a real fight. You're the first real challenge I've had in this war," Lancer said, looking at her as he seemed to be almost apologetic. "By this point, Caster already has your Master. For what it's worth, I'm sorry you can't go out with a real fight, like a warrior like you deserves," he said, shaking his head. "I'll try to have this make do."

"Why does Caster want my master?" Mordred asked.

Lancer laughed. "You haven't figured it out? Your Master is a massive fountain of Prana. Caster is a Caster. What do you think she'll do with him?"

Mordred's grip on Clarent tightened so much her armor creaked, and she grit her teeth for a second. "Master's Prana belongs to me, and me alone," she said, imperiously. "I assume Caster has some form of remotely teleporting my Master to her lair, which is no doubt deeper into this catacomb."

"Correct on all counts," Lancer admitted freely. "She's also got a noble phantasm that's good at cutting Master and Servant links. So you haven't got long. Since you're going to die anyway, might as well die with some dignity. Get ready, Saber, because I will be fighting for real now," Lancer said, readjusting his grip in his spear and seeming much more at ease, lowering his center of gravity.

"Why have you joined this alliance Caster has formed?" Mordred asked. She got the opinion that this servant was more interested in having a good fight than he was in victory, at least from their short conversation it seemed that way.

"Eh, I have my reasons. I don't really like this, at all, but I'm forced to accept it anyway. Though, Caster herself wouldn't offer a very fun fight. Once you get past her tricks, there's not all that much to her. So I jumped at the chance to fight a Saber," Lancer admitted, freely.

"What about Archer?" Mordred prodded.

Lancer grinned. "I admit, I am tempted at trying to take him when he's had time to prepare a battlefield for use with his guerrilla tactics. Just to prove to him that all his tricks and devious tactics mean nothing to a real warrior, if nothing else. He's not our ally. I'm correct in assuming he told you that Caster had his master to get you to come here, right?"

At that, Mordred nodded, prompting him to continue.

"He wasn't lying. Caster was ready to double cross Archer like he double crossed you, but my master and hers forced Caster to go through with the bargain, so I'm sure Archer's master is free. Almost killed her on the spot there. There'll be time for Archer later."

"All this sneaking around, these tactics... they don't seem conductive to having a good, entertaining fight," Mordred commented, casually.

"Actually, my master spent some time checking out both you and your Master, and how attached you seem to be to him. She figured you'd fight that much harder in his defense," Lancer commented. "I personally hate this kind of tactic, and if it were up to me, I would've just gone for a straight up fight. No worries, though, I'll kill Caster as soon as my master is done with her. She's kind of a total bitch," he said, blunt honesty barely making a dent on the tension. "I promise, though, your Master will come out of this without any permanent harm. That much I can do. In return, give me your best in this, the last fight of your second life!"

The battle resumed, very quickly, and Mordred was astounded by the difference. The enemy servant had been holding back, not his skill, but his strength and speed. She couldn't match his agility, and it more than made up for the advantage she'd originally had. He was definitely very quick, even amongst the swiftest, and her left hand already sported three cuts from where she'd been forced to slap his attacks aside, after he'd worked his way past her guard with clarent.

His stabs were coming so far his spear was barely more than a red blur advancing on her like a bullet, sometimes seemingly from two directions at once, and Clarent was a flashing arc of silver, barely managing to block the ones that she could, while stopping the others with her hand.

More than once, she was forced to twist her body to dodge or lead the attacks to less threatening and dangerous areas.

It was then that Mordred found out that the tightly cramped quarters actually played to this servant's advantage, this specific form of attack meant that he could ignore the problem of not having a large open space to swing his long weapon like a quarter staff, but it also meant she couldn't sidestep to dodge stabs, and that he had a relatively narrower area to cover when using this kind of machine gun stabbing.

Mordred found herself stepping back, and falling onto an old, tried and true strategy. The unexpected.

She fell on her back, causing Lancer to attempt to pounce on the opportunity, quite literally as he had jumped forward, intent on stabbing at her heart to end the fight, but she quickly let go of Clarent and placed both hands behind her shoulders, planting them in the hard packed dirt of the passage, her fingers digging in slightly, so she could backflip instead of staying to be hit. Her legs snapped into action and kicked at the spear that would've impaled her chin from the angle it was coming down at her in, causing his attack to go wide, stabbing into the ceiling instead of on the soft flesh that surrounded her jaw.

Lancer was shocked at the move, and Mordred merely smirked as she took the fight into Melee once more, grabbing Clarent from the ground as she advanced, tackling the man in blue shoulder first, forcing him to crash to the ground, with her straddling his chest and with her knees on the insides of his elbows, preventing him from using his legs.

"Well, if you wanted to have sex, you could have just, you know, asked," he informed, wagging his eyebrows a little.

"I'm not into necrophilia," Mordred announced, grabbing Clarent's hilt with both hands and preparing to stab downwards into the man's face. However, he twisted nimbly, managing to use his free lower body's strength to have his legs find their way to Mordred's head. Mordred cursed her short stature for a moment, because while she was more than strong enough to keep him pinned, she wasn't tall enough to cover both his legs and arms at the same time, and she had taken too long with that quip, giving him enough time to wrap his legs around the sides of her head and tossing her away.

"Hm, too bad," Lancer stated. "You've got some moves," he admitted, cracking his knuckles. "By the way, I can also apply runes with my feet."

Mordred's eyes widened, and her hands instantly grasped at the back of her neck, before she remembered her magic cancel, though the distraction was all Lancer needed to jump clear above her, his target clearly being his spear, still lodged in the ceiling, which he pulled out with ease. He crashed into the ground, rolled forward and then turned towards her, adopting an odd stance.

"I seem to have underestimated the magical resistance of the Saber class. You were able to nullify the runes I put on you with ease, weren't you?" he asked, absent mindedly.

"Of course," Mordred said, lifting Clarent, standing in a mockery of the traditional kendo pose, showing lackadaisical disregard for propriety.

"Your master has likely lost his command seals already, so I'm going to end this fight before it's ended for us," Lancer said, frowning.

The feeling of certain doom that flooded the passage almost made Mordred flinch.

Almost.

Possessed by the rage of a berserker as she heard the words of the last vestiges of her contract with Harry being eliminated, Mordred jumped forward, ready to destroy her opponent.

"Gae -"

Lancer adjusted his grip slightly, holding his spear from behind with only one of his hands, and then leaning back, adjusting to the airborne opponent he faced.

The spear came rushing forward, and Mordred instantaneously knew it was bad news from the aura it practically exuded, moving to block it was pointless, though, it was coming so fast that-

"Bo-"

- kicking its user in the face seemed like a much better response to it.

The unexpected attack had caught Lancer by surprise, as he had no doubt been expecting her to use her weapon to block his in some way, and interrupted his attack, sending him flying back. He hit a wall and seemed shocked, before letting out a small chuckle. "Hah. I shouldn't count you out until you're in the floor bleeding, eh?" he asked.

Meanwhile, Mordred was not having such a good time, as she felt the natural erosion of the world multiplying on her, now that her anchor to the grail, her Master, had his connection with her severed. For an instant, she feared his death, but then reminded herself that Lancer had said Caster wanted him to be a Prana battery.

She couldn't die like this.

She couldn't accept defeat. She couldn't accept having failed her master this utterly and thoroughly. She refused to accept it. Her master had promised that he'd be there for her when she needed him. Her master had understood her, had opened his heart to her and seen a side of her that even she had refused to see. Her master, the kind, caring and warm person that had taken to participating in this Grail War because of her and not himself.

Had this been a few days ago, Mordred would've merely looked for a replacement before the rest of her Prana faded and forgotten about the unimportant pipsqueak.

But he wasn't unimportant, was he? Despite their short time together, her Master had quickly become a very important figure in her life.

She couldn't just forget about him and move on. She couldn't just leave him in some dark and dank dungeon, for a witch to use as a Prana battery.

No.

Her master was hers. Hers and hers alone. His prana belonged to her, and absolutely no one had the right to taste even the slightest bit of it!

"I refuse to die here," Mordred stated.

But she couldn't win this fight. Were she at full power, she could probably take on this Lancer on equal terms. But she wasn't, and as such, she was facing certain defeat at the hands of this Lancer.

The attack she'd just barely stopped was proof of it. If he'd launched it, she was absolutely certain she would die. She was not familiar with the name he had used, and couldn't extrapolate what Gae Bo- would refer to. Her master probably could, or his brainy friend would likely figure it out eventually. But she herself found that alone, she was almost certainly going to die.

It hurt. Somewhere, she questioned why it hurt so much, why it pained her to leave the mission even for an instant, knowing it was doomed to failure. She wasn't one to abandon her course of action even though she knew it was one that was ultimately bound to end in a complete defeat for her. That was how she'd lived her life. That was how she'd ended it.

She'd given her everything and more to see her goal completed, even if in the end she had ultimately failed and been defeated. She was betraying herself, by abandoning her course of action right now.

But now, now she couldn't afford to do that. Failure, in this endeavor, could not possibly be tolerated. For once, for the first time in her life, she was making an exception to her usual modus operandi, for once she was fighting for something other than herself. And in this case, she could not possibly allow herself to fail. In order to succeed, she needed to live long enough to achieve victory.

"Heh. What are you going to do, though?" Lancer said, standing up and dusting himself off, resting his red spear on his shoulder. "Without a master, you'll fade pretty quickly. I'm surprised you're even in fighting condition at all. Prana fades pretty fast when nothing's supplying you."

Mordred blinked and raised a hand, placing it in her chest. In it, she could still feel the swirling power of her Master's prana, coursing through her magical circuits. It was fading at a much slower rate than it should, so thick was it. For a moment, she was glad she'd been so greedy in draining Prana from her Master, as it was now proving essential in assuring her continued existence. "I must..."

"Go get a new Master," Lancer advised, nodding at her, leaning on his spear casually. "I'll let you go. Caster will bitch at me later, but hell, I'm willing to wait if it means I'll get to fight you at your best later."

At that, Mordred nodded. Lancer's tremendous discontent with the conditions he'd been forced to fight in was very much in her favor tonight. Still, she could not dilly-dally, she had much to do and very little time to do it. Even though her Master's prana was fading at a slower rate than it should now that they were no longer connected, most likely because of the way that she received it, it would still fade within a few hours...

Lancer returned the nod, and gestured to the open manhole that would lead to the outside with his free hand.

Even though he was instrumental in preventing her from recovering her Master immediately, she could not help but feel more than passing respect for this Lancer, for this warrior of immense caliber. Not only for his ability, but for his character, as well. He was a man who clearly knew what he wanted, and was willing to endure pain and suffering to obtain it. Being one with a similar code of ethics herself, Mordred could appreciate it.

Different from the respect she felt towards the Grander Than Life King of Conquerors, this was more the respect a warrior gives another.

It was odd. She would've never given another the time of the day before. She hadn't given such respect to Lancelot of the Lake, greatest amongst the Knights of the Round Table and the symbol that she wanted to surpass to force her father to acknowledge her ability as a fighter, or to Gawain the White Knight, whose cool, calm and collected demeanor and knightly manners were praised so much he was called an 'ideal knight' by most, and the symbol of knighthood that Mordred had wanted to surpass to force her Father to acknowledge her value as a Knight.

Back then, they'd just been symbols she'd wanted to surpass.

Simply more of the 'normal' people, who were by definition superior to her, an artificial being, a twisted creation made as a mockery of the Perfect King, and that had incensed her to a level that made her disdain and hate them on principle. She had been too caught up in her rage.

Perhaps her Master was more important to her than she had thought, then, because when she tried to summon her anger at these figures, even as she effortlessly leaped the distance needed to clear the manhole, and soon began weaving and dodging around trees and wildlife... she found that all she had to do was simply think of her master's calm acceptance of her situation, of her birth conditions and of her actions.

She could remember the kindness and warmth he had shown her when he held her, when he had promised to stand by her side, and any and all of the thoughts that would create rage to distract her from her objective were quickly purged from her mind.

As she tore through the grounds of Hogwarts, pausing barely a second to turn ethereal and thus pass straight through the castle's gates without opening them.

The massive Great Hall was disturbed greatly, as Mordred had no regard for it when she simply ran at the height of her speed before applying Prana Burst to enhance it, as doing so would be suicidal without a source to recharge from. Not helping was the fact that she'd used quite a bit, if not most, of her Master's Prana in her fight with Lancer.

All she had to do, right now, was to find the Gryffindor tower. She didn't have time to slow down to take corners, so instead of doing so, she actually leaped and ran on the wall when she had to turn. Had anyone seen her run, they would've been amazed with the unintentional tremendous display of natural freerunning skill, a combination of Mordred's pragmatic nature and her natural physical abilities.

She knew her Master's brainy friend would be there. If she'd pegged the girl's character right, she'd probably wait there until she or her Master reported back, out of worry. The girl was tremendously devoted to her Master, for good reason, her Master was a person worth admiring and following, in her opinion. A figure worth fighting for, the Queen that she would so eagerly and selflessly defend with her life.

Mordred didn't even bother waking up the silly portrait of a fat woman, turning ethereal for a second and then reforming once she was past it. As expected, she immediately found a bushy head of brown hair surrounded by four spheres of blue fire, huddled in a sofa reading a book with a pile of large tomes that she had discarded. Mordred came into existance in a shower of mana particles, catching her attention.

"S-Saber!?" Hermione yelped in surprise.

"I need your help. Master has been captured," Mordred informed, finally coming to a stop in front of her.

"You'll need mine, as well," said a new voice, causing both of the females' heads to turn to the fire, where a figure in dark brown robes appeared, the only skin visible being a hand that gripped a long staff of gnarled wood and the lower half of a face that showed an amused, interested grin. "But before that happens... I will need you to ask for it on your knees. Kneel before me, Saber, and _beg_ me for help, and I can help you save your Master."

Some would've been immensely conflicted at this moment. This was an extremely important step. Humilliating oneself in order to beg for help from another was not an easy thing to do for one as prideful as Mordred. To someone like her, whose confidence in herself was near absolute, whose pride was immense, it was akin as asking her to kill herself when she was winning.

However, as Mordred fell to her knees, looking at Ruler, "Please, help me," she asked, as she felt the massive drain of Prana settling in.

For her, right now, her pride meant nothing. At this moment, the only thing that mattered was the fact that her master was in danger, in the hands of a dangerous witch, and desperation struck her as she began to feel her Master's prana fade faster, signalling that her time in this world was coming to an end. There was no hesitation, no doubt in her mind.

Even if she had to bend her knees...

"Very, very good... Hm, it seems I made the right choice after all. Good to know. Accept this Prana, it should last you for an hour and a half more or so, if you're conservative with it," Ruler said, tapping his staff against the ground and then approaching the butt to her forehead, tapping it lightly. Mordred felt energized, though her entire body was left tingling.

Mordred did not thank Ruler, merely looked up at him, as if questioning him on how they would go on.

Then he produced a long piece of chalk and a book, which he passed to Hermione. "Draw the innermost circle in the diagram on page 1633. Just think of the page and flip the page, it will appear. I will draw the rest," he explained, simply. "Saber, ditch your armor. In fact, get naked entirely, it'll make the process much quicker. We've got a contract to create," he said with a small, clearly and deeply amused smile.

Mordred didn't take long to banish her armor and then easily remove her tube top, throwing it away without a care in the world. Quickly, she undid the unnecessary belt on her waist's buckle, then the button on her shorts, followed by the zipper, and then she removed both it and her silky underwear in one fell swoop. She blinked as she felt warmth overcome her despite the chilly air of the drafy castle somewhere in Scotland.

Soon enough, the circle was complete, though the difference in magical expertise between Ruler and Hermione was made apparent by the fact that Ruler had drawn a circle three times the size and complexity of Hermione's, after vanishing the furniture in the room and warding the stairs to avoid interruptions, in slightly less time than it took Hermione to draw a simple runic circle that would actually just work to keep outside Prana away and thus make an area 'sterile', or at least as sterile as it ever got in a castle held together with Prana.

"You will need to be naked for this, as well," Ruler told Granger, looking at her with a lecherous grin. "Too bad you're too young to be hot yet with today's laws. In my day, a girl like you would've had a dozen knights vying for your hand, I say. A magic user as powerful and clever as yourself? Ah, too bad I'm a ghost of times past, otherwise..."

The bushy haired girl blushed brightly. "This will help us save Harry, right? And he's in real, very big, trouble, right?"

"Yes, Granger- we don't have time for modesty or for you to be a prude," Mordred barked, harshly.

"Well, it'd be too bad for you to be a prude right now," Ruler said, before spinning the staff in his hands like it was a cheerleader's baton, before taping Hermione's head with the tip, very lightly. Her clothes exploded, shredded from her body, while leaving her perfectly intact.

Hermione's body felt tingly all over, and for a moment, her crotch itched terribly, and her hands immediately went to cover it, while she used her arms to cover her budding breasts as best as she could.

"That just won't do, girl, because in order to form a contract, the fastest, most convenient way, is fornication."

"B-B-But I'm just-"

"Fourteen years old, yes. And I told you, I'm from a time where you'd have kids at this age already. As is Saber. If you've noticed, neither of us cares very much. Adolescence is a modern concept, and while very good and acceptable in normal circumstances, these are not normal circumstances."

Mordred nodded. "Every second you spent dawdling is another second my Master is under Caster's control. If I arrive too late to save him from her because of this, I WILL kill you in a very messy manner, Granger. Get over it, there are bigger concerns than how morally acceptable this might be to modern sensibilities. Think not of how immoral it is, but how necessary it is at the moment. If it makes you feel any better, I lost my virginity when I was chronologically twelve years old."

"What she said," Ruler said eloquently. "And I was nine when I lost mine. Totes accidental, but that Nymph was just, woah, and she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"B-But... no, you're right. Even if this is wrong... necessity trumps morality," Hermione said to herself, slapping her cheeks almost as if psyching up, only to blush brightly and return to covering her crotch and breasts as best as she could. "I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Fortunately for you, I happen to be an expert in inducing lust in women," Ruler said, twirling his staff again and once more tapping Hermione's forehead. Hermione's eyes were glazed over for a second, and then they refocused.

"Ready?" Mordred asked, looking at Granger's brown eyes for a second.

She was not prepared for when Granger pounced on her and locked their lips together. Nor was she prepared for when something poked her in the leg.

"What the-"

"Thought it'd make the situation a bit more fun," Ruler said with a nod and an easy smile, which caused Mordred to want to strangle him. With his own tonge. "Now, just sit back and enjoy it, I'll take care of the rest. Oh, and don't worry, the wards I erected prevent sound going out... hah, erected. I crack me up sometimes..."

Mordred soon couldn't really pay any attemption to Ruler's lame jokes, as Hermione began to put her A game into the situation.

"... If either of them looked older, this might actually give me an erection. Real shame," Ruler muttered, as he set himself to work.

* * *

Interesting note: When I was writing this chapter, the site logged me out just before I saved the complete version, and thus, I lost nearly half of it (the last Save I'd made). The moral is: Seriously, even if it's more convenient, don't write on the site's 'Edit Document' feature, 'cause Finagle will rape your butt. If you do, save often. Probably every 15 minutes, to ensure you lose as little work as possible.

Another note: As with any Type-Moon related work, everyone is over 18 years of age. Even if they don't look it. Especially if they don't look it. Though I'm with Ruler. If Saber had looked older than 15, I might have enjoyed that sex scene a bit more.

* * *

Dumbledore coughed. "The author appears to be a ninja, as I distinctly recall that rant being much longer, with bold letters and a lot of capitals, clearly much angrier. I believe this is called ninja editing?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Gabrielle asked. "The Author would never go into a screaming fit, would he?"

"Well, he did, even if he tries to pretend he didn't. Still, welcome, my friends, to yet another iteration of the Dumbledojo, where our host will shut up before the Author gets angry and cancels our show!" Dumbledore said with a grand, sweeping gesture. "As usual, we have with us our adorable loli helper, Gabrielle! Who, in honor of the fic's first omitted sex scene, shall be wearing a shirt depicting an unspecificed obscene act!"

"... I don't think flipping someone the bird counts as an obscene act. I don't like this shirt. Can I have another one?" Gabrielle asked, looking at Dumbledore.

He scoffed, and waved his wand, turning her shirt into a plain white one instead.

"Much better," she said, nodding to herself.

"Still, today, we return to our usual programming, as people have returned to giving us submissions for the tenth chapter! See? We really do have fans!"

Gabrielle cheered up. "Yes! Soon, my massive popularity will make the Author reconsider my contract so he can give me my own route! I will not end up forgotten as a foot note in my sister's bio! Even if I have to sell her used underwear in the black market to get the funding for my route!"

The headmaster seemed disturbed. "Do people really buy things like that?" he asked. Then he paused. "A better question is, what were you thinking!?"

"Ah, yes, people buy them aplenty. In fact, I got a big sale of her used bras last night," she said, nodding and smiling in a shady manner.

"... moving on," Dumbledore said, wisely deciding to ignore where that conversation was going. "This is today's first submission!" he said, passing Gabrielle a letter.

"I'm very sorry, but the first given to us is not plausible, as Archer really is bluffing," Gabrielle said. "Calling Archer's bluff would've led Harry down another Route, not precissely a Bad End. Forgive me?" she asked, directing big, puppy-dog like eyes at the audience, to a big d'aww.

Dumbledore coughed. "Ah, too bad, that. I'd have liked to have the consequences of rash actions without thought to be displayed."

"I thought that punishing stupidity like that is kind of kind of what we do? I mean, even in the above chapter, everything went to hell because Harry and Mordred moved without checking to see if Archer was bluffing properly. If they'd gone and asked Madame Pomfrey, she could've told them Harry was perfectly healthy..."

At this, Dumbledore shook his head. "Even if they'd gone, they couldn't really be sure. If part of the Noble Phantasm was that it couldn't be detected until it was active, they wouldn't be able to know if he was bluffing or not. With magic of this level, you really can't be sure," he explained, using his wand as a pointer stick to point at a diagram of the human body in a blackboard, which had several parts of it colored in purple, which turned invisible when he tapped his wand on it.

Gabrielle blinked. "Oh, yes, this one I approve of!" she said to herself, as she began to read the submission. "Roll it, Joe!"

* * *

Bad Ending Number 9: You're in danger, idiot!

Mordred's wandering hands soon had Harry's mind wandering off, and he was lost in her, as he returned her affections eagerly. He tuned out the rest of the world, concentrating only on the beautiful woman he had in his hands, and how soft and yet firm, how well shaped the orbs of flesh covered only in her soft panties that he was kneading were. His other hand came up, and he found the small zipper for her tube top, while her hands were still kneading his own bottom.

However, just as he was about to pull the zipper down, he felt coldness emanate from the center of his chest.

"Tche, what a waste of time," he heard a voice with a tone that spoke of extreme disdain, becoming more distant every second, but then everything went black, and he knew no more.

* * *

"You approve about Harry dying violently just before he can consummate his relationship with Mordred? And who's Joe?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Of course. Do you think I like to see Harry with another woman?" she asked. "Joe's our Editor Guy. His name's Steve Steveson, but everyone calls him Joe."

"... why?" Dumbledore asked, truly confused.

"Do I look like I have any idea what goes through the mind of our production?" Gabrielle asked, deadpan, hands on her thighs as she regarded Dumbledore with the best impression of Rin she could muster. "Besides, they couldn't call him Steve, since that's what they call the Sound guy... though why we have a sound guy escapes me..."

"Point. And let me guess, his name's Joe?"

"Dave, actually," Gabrielle said, looking somewhat confused.

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard. "Ah, now I understand, that explains everything."

"What? No it doesn't!" she said, stamping her foot on the wooden floor of the dojo.

"Of course it does- you'll understand, some day."

"I am surrounded by crazies and idiots," and then there was a sound like as if someone coughed.

Dumbledore wordlessly patted her head before turning around to face the camera again. "Ah, well, we're back to great levels of stupidity again. Harry knew he was being watched, and as such, he really should've been keeping an eye out. Mordred trusted him to do so, and he failed," he stated, stroking his beard.

"Massive negative scores! Yay!" Gabrielle cheered.

"Okay, then, next?" Dumbledore asked.

Gabrielle nodded and took a letter from him. "This is a question."

"For the corner of answering stuff?" Dumbledore asked, joy brimming in his aged eyes.

"Well, not quite addressed to us, but it's something we can answer," Gabrielle said. "Okay, here it goes: "Archer is acting out of character. He aspired to be a knightly hero, didn't he?"" she said, reading off the letter. "It's paraphrased, of course, but it's what it is, in a nutshell."

"Ah, yes. Well, Lancer should answer that question within the chapter, but ultimately, it comes down to the circumstances. Archer is, no matter what else, an extremely pragmatic person, and he will not handicap himself by limiting his style to a straight on, head on attack. While he is not averse and, in fact, he'd very much like to try a straight up fight, he knows he stands no chance in one against the other Knight Classes or Berserker, so misdirection, subterfuge and sabotage are very much necessary for him in this Grail War," Dumbledore explained, nodding to himself. "Much as he is lauded as a hero of the people, you must remember, he is not a valorous knight, but a pragmatic brigand."

"Should we be giving clues to his identity?" Gabrielle asked, worried.

"Ah, it's no issue. Believe me, his identity is obvious, regardless," Dumbledore confirmed. "Do you have another question?"

"Actually, we do, from the same person, even. With as little paraphrasing as possible, here is the question: "Why did Mordred not tear him apart? They were in close proximity when he shot Harry, and Servants don't immediately disappear, so I figure she would have time to off him and run like hell"" Gabrielle quoted, looking up at Dumbledore, who stroked his beard for a second.

"Well, it's really quite simple. Mordred had already jumped down the hatch when Archer attacked Harry, and had to hit the ground before she could jump back. And this chapter showed that she wasn't free to go to Harry's rescue immediately. Furthermore, Archer didn't actually shoot Harry with anything, he actually used an arrow like a dagger to stab Harry. That should clear up your doubts, coupled with the chapter."

Gabrielle nodded. "I think that's the last of the things we have to do today," she said, nodding to herself.

"Before we leave, I'd like to remind people that the Author really does try to read ALL reviews that come in this fic's way. Even if it seems like he doesn't, he really does, and he loves to see you supporting him when he writes. However, there might come a time when there might be too many bad ends or questions to address without making this section thrice the length of the chapter, which is a big no-no."

The lighting dimmed as Gabrielle addressed the camera herself. "Which is extremely unlikely, but we can dream about some day getting a gazillion Bad End submissions and questions per chapter, right?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"Right," Dumbledore said, nodding in approval. "If that comes to happen, please don't believe that we, or the Author, think any less of you. Sometimes, we just can't keep up."

"Thank you, for your continued support, everyone!" Gabrielle said, bowing in front of the audience.

"... This chapter almost didn't have a Dumbledojo because the author was too dumb to save the Chapter with the copy (and then paste) feature of Windows," she muttered, thinking her microphone was off.


	12. Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part III

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part 3**

* * *

Hermione was out of commission for the time being.

The strain of supporting Mordred was larger than either she or Mordred herself had anticipated. Mordred herself hadn't thought she was such a high maintenance servant, since she'd been summoned as Saber, but Ruler had been quick to explain that since Harry had such a huge reserve of Prana and since she took so much from him so often, she'd become attuned to it. It wouldn't have been possible, normally, to create a dependency this easily, but Ruler also explained that Harry's Prana would've had that effect on any servant he'd summoned, though it would've been much less of a bother if their connection hadn't been interrupted by Assassin.

"You won't win on your own. Fortunately for you, a certain master has made overtures of alliance to yours," Ruler said with a wide grin, before tapping his staff on the floor. "Now, chop chop, your Master will require your presence quite soon if you wish for him to not end up becoming a mindless battery for Caster."

Mordred nodded, and set off to find Iskandar and his master, Cedric Diggory. She made absolutely no secret of the fact she was seeking him out, finding a student with robes trimmed in yellow, and then being directed to their common room. The girl who brought her there, a seventh year if her stature and development were right, told her to wait outside for him, but Mordred scoffed, raised her leg and kicked the large barrel-like door that led into the Hufflepuff common room, reducing it to splinters. "I don't have time for this bullshit," she commented, seeing the stunned face of the girl. "Besides, it's not like the castle won't fix it in an hour or two."

Cedric was actually in the process of crying victory as an extremely large map, littered with small figurines and other tokens, was laid out on a table, surrounded by six people, one of which was the incredibly tall and muscular frame of Iskandar. She didn't know what exactly it was they were doing, but it looked like a game. Too bad she had to interrupt it, but her Master was way more important than a silly game.

"You!" Mordred shouted, pointing at Iskandar.

"Is it time for our fight already? Good! I was growing restless!" Iskandar said, immediately hoping to his feet, his clothes turning into leather armor and a coat appearing on top of him as if by magic. He had a sword in hand and seemed ready to leap into combat.

"Not yet," Mordred said, "your time to die by my blade will come, but for now... I need your help," she said, ignoring how much of her pride she had to swallow.

She couldn't take on Lancer, Caster and their masters all on her lonesome. Much less so when her own Master might very well be used as a bargaining chip against her. No, she couldn't win through raw, brute force. For all that she preferred a full frontal, overwhelming assault, she could not afford it.

"Huh? That's odd," Iskandar said, "you don't seem like the kind of person to want, or even accept, help. So it must be really serious," he said.

"It is. My master is in severe danger right now. Caster has kidnapped him, and is using him for who knows what purpose- it doesn't matter. I want him back, but she has somehow managed to obtain Lancer's help. I need to even the odds."

Iskandar frowned for a few seconds. "Promise to be my subject and I will help you," he said, evenly, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.

"Never. My first loyalty is and will always be towards my Master," Mordred said, without a shadow of a doubt.

Hearing that, Iskandar sighed and nodded. "Very well, then. Let's mount an operation to save him, then," he said, smiling widely.

Cedric, Iskandar's own master sputtered as he tried to make sense. "Wait, didn't you just put a condition on helping them!?" he asked, confused.

"No. I never said I wasn't going to help them anyway," Iskandar said, looking at Cedric as if he had lost his brain. "I knew you were an idiot, but are you deaf, as well?"

"I hate you so much," Cedric stated, looking at Iskandar as if he wanted the large servant to burst into flames.

At this, Iskandar clapped him in the back, almost forcing him to hit the table face first, laughing boisterously. "You'll learn wit in time, boy," he said, nodding. "Now, Saber, tell me where we need to go, and I will get us there," he said, falling into complete seriousness as he adopted the atmosphere of Mordred's request.

"Okay, everyone, this is servant business, so don't worry, I'll be back to finish the game later. Jenkins is no longer allowed to lead the party in my or Rider's absence," Cedric declared, before turning around to the two servants. "Let's go help Harry. Kid's done a lot for this school and the world at large, least I can do is help him when he needs me, right?"

"That's good, boy! Settle your debts, never leave something hanging above your head so it might strike you at the worst time," Iskandar said, approvingly, "and prepare for battle!"

"Let's go. The faster we move, the better," Mordred stated, simply.

Some would think that this whole scene was weird, but to Mordred, it was just how things should go. She knew Iskandar, as well as she could as he was a very open and simple person. She knew that, even had she not made a positive impression on the large servant, offering the man a large battle to be in would more likely than not entice him to at least show up. Lancer would prove more than a worthy rival for Iskandar to enjoy fighting against.

Mordred wasn't a planner, not really. But only an idiot would've been unable to manipulate Iskandar's love of a challenge, which was clear as day to anyone who had heard him talking about how meaningless simply wishing for world conquest would be.

* * *

"I was waiting," Lancer said, as Mordred cut through the forest, followed by Iskandar, who was mounted on a massive black horse, his master sat astride the same horse, directly in front of him.

The Lancer in blue had stepped into vision from behind a tree, red spear in his hand.

Iskandar smiled. "Go on," he said, gesturing for Mordred to continue.

"Don't die, our duel is still unresolved," said she in return, receiving a nod in answer.

"I really shouldn't let you through, you know, but even I'm not good enough to hold back the both of you at the same time," Lancer said.

Mordred nodded at him, as he was merely showing respect for her by giving an excuse instead of simply letting her pass. It was an odd thing to think or say, but she understood that to a true warrior, being dismissed as a threat would be a tremendous insult, and by acknowledging them both as opponents that he couldn't defeat, he was giving a justification for allowing her to pass rather than implying Mordred was a charity case.

She appreciated it. Even if the knight himself was crude and rather rude, she knew better than anyone that it didn't make him any less of a knight, though her ex peers at the Round Table would've been bound to disagree. She'd never liked them, anyway, so she didn't much care.

Mordred continued on, leaving Iskandar and Cu Chulainn to stare at each other for a few seconds. Iskandar smiled, before one of his arms grabbed at his master, lifting him and then putting him down, all by the scruff of his robes. Cedric yelped in indignation at this threatment.

"Boy. Watch this. This is a true fight. Watch two of the great legends that inspired the world of today, and learn... learn of your place of the world, learn of how small you truly are... And hold on to that- remember it until the end of your days. Let it fester. Let it be the fuel you burn to pave your way to greatness! LANCER! Show me the strength of the Hound of Ulster!"

Lancer raised an eyebrow. "Ah? You recognize me that easily?" he asked, seemingly surprised.

"Saber gave us the name of your spear," Cedric said, crossing his arm. "Gae Bo-, and she said she'd cut you off. There was no other choice, it had to be Gae Bolg. And the evil, ominous aura of your spear... it confirms it, no doubt. You are Cú Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster."

"You're knowledgeable," complimented Lancer, smirking.

"I am Iskandar, the King of Conquerors! I will be your opponent!" cried said person, as his horse reared back, neighing as loud as it could. "Bucephalus, CHARGE!"

The massive black steed that was that Rider's mount instantaneously complied with the order, rushing forward, guided by the Sword of the Kupriotes, in the Lancer's direction.

"A cavalry charge against a spearman!?" Lancer yelled, his mouth forming into a grin as he leaped into action himself, rushing at them. "How foolish!" he yelled, moving with agility befitting his class, swinging his spear in a horizontal arc, ignoring the advantage that Rider's charge would've given him, had he just acted like a pikeman. His main attack was blocked with Rider's sword, but Lancer was not only agile, he was also dexterous, and it wasn't difficult for him to twist around his spear to put his leg forward, landing foot first on Rider's chest.

The large man was knocked off his horse, but the horse had a mind of its own and stopped its charge, managing to rear its head upwards enough that it could bite at Lancer.

Bucephalus was massive and so were the jaws that it attacked with, so Lancer was forced to endure its very painful bite, though he was able to smack it with the butt of his spear before he could push himself off the horse's mouth. He growled and stabbed at the horse with Gae Bolg, but it soon disappeared into particles of Mana.

"My steed's time has not yet come- I must preserve him for my final fight with Saber. It would only be an insult to her if I reached it at anything but full power," Rider commented, standing up, massaging his shoulder.

"Oh, and I don't deserve a similar privilege? I'm insulted," Lancer said with an easy grin that showed he was waiting for Iskander to pull off something else.

"Hah! I am surrounded by the deaf!" Rider called.

"No, you're just too much of an ass to make what you say clear!" Cedric yelled from the side, causing Lancer to laugh at the byplay.

"No, I can't risk my steed... but Bucephalus is not my ultimate trump card," Rider said, raising his sword above him before cutting at the air to his right, leaving a trail of energized prana behind his cut.

The sound of thunder filled the forbidden forest.

"This is my chariot! GORDIUS WHEEL!" Iskandar announced with a grand, sweeping gesture as if he were opening some kind of spectacle. The sound of rolling thunder followed his words, and soon, the world trembled as divine bulls made their presence known, each of their stomps causing a flash of lightning with massive amounts of Prana exploding beneath them.

The Chariot itself was incredibly massive, as befitting its massive owner, easily beyond the dimensions of a semi truck, with a wicked pair of scythes on either side of it. Iskandar wasted little time in mounting it, roaring a battle cry as he did.

Lancer laughed out loud at the sight. "Yes! This is what I'm talking about!" he yelled, happily. "I'm afraid mine isn't anywhere near as impressive, and it can't fly, but at the very least, I will offer you a challenge! Láeg!" Lancer yelled, and very soon, a chariot that was massive in its own right, even if not quite to the dimensions of Iskandar's own, appeared, with a pair of massive white horses to draw it. Lancer quickly set himself to mount it, brandishing his spear with his right hand and grabbing the reins with the other.

As the Gordius Wheel circled the sky, as if to make a pass at the ultimate Irish Hero, Láeg's two horses, Liath Macha and Dub Sainglend, neighed and reared, kicking at the air to show how ready for battle the both of them were.

With his own roar, the two horses began to run forwards, uncaring of the forest in front of them, through which the chariot itself could never pass under normal circumstances.

Indeed, they needn't worry, as they trampled the trees underhoove, their heads knocking down the trees they crashed into with ease. Lancer had never pulled on the chariot's reigns, as it was clearly being driven by the horses themselves, and they soon made a ramp from a particularly large trunk that had fallen on top of a massive rock. Gordius Wheel had finally finished its lap, and was turning towards them.

The horses leaped forward, dragging the chariot with them, taking the entire thing to the sky. Lancer had arched his whole body, holding his spear as if he were preparing to throw it, and it began to glow intensely. "GAE!"

Iskandar grinned and used the reins to spur the bulls to go faster, to push the Gordius Wheel to its limits, the words that he'd hoped dearly to be able to yell bursting from his chest. "VIA EXPUGNATIO!"

"BOLG!"

A massively bright flash illuminated the night sky outside of Hogwarts' castle for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Any that had not been awaken by the spontaneous thunderstorm that Gordius Wheel had initiated had certainly been woken up by the massive sun that had been ignited over the Forbidden Forest, as the two Servants clashed.

It was an event that could only be witnessed once in a lifetime, the clash of two forces so far removed from human ability, yet at the same time, the crowning achievement of the human race as a whole. Two heroes, renowned across the land and powerful beyond measure, giving it their all in a pitched battle to the death, showing each other their most powerful abilities and utilizing their trusted artifacts to their utmost potential.

It was beautiful to witness, and a beauty so ephemeral that it was perhaps almost sad.

As it was ephemeral, it had ended as soon as it began, with the flash of light fading and an explosion with a horrible sound ensuing.

Cedric yelled in shock and agony, as his ears popped from the agonizing sound. He was thankful that his education to prepare for the Grail Tournament involved learning basic healing charms that would work to return his hearing to him, dulling the ringing in his eardrums considerably, and then he looked at the sky, but he could see nothing.

Only a few minutes later, could he see the massive, muscular figure of his servant hit the ground with a loud thud, falling to a knee to absorb the impact. Soon, the massive Rider stood tall on his feet once more, his skin riddled with small cuts and his mantle ruined. He grabbed at it from his shoulder, and tossed it aside, and looked entirely serious.

Not long after, Lancer appeared from between the trees, though his upper body was nude, the entirety of his skin tight blue armor having been evaporated. One of the legs was also gone, revealing that his left leg had been quite mangled as a result of the clash. He wore a mad grin on his face. "You have gone above and beyond what I'd expected, Rider. If nothing else, I'm truly glad I got to fight an opponent like you in this, my second chance at life," he said, solemnly despite his expression.

"Same here. Truly, you are a gifted warrior, beyond comparison to others. With you by my side, my quest to conquer the world would be much easier. So, what say you, Lancer? Will you accept me as your King?"

Lancer laughed openly. "No, I serve only one, and at the moment, she must be quite worried for the fate of her Servant."

"And how will you fight me, Lancer? Your spear might have destroyed my Chariot, but it, itself, was destroyed by the clash. Surely you don't intend to fight me unarmed?"

"I'm not out of tricks, yet," Lancer admitted, cracking his neck. "And neither are you. While that horse of yours is not your Noble Phantasm, I doubt that the Chariot was your ultimate trump card."

Rider laughed at this. "You'd be right," he admitted, freely. "I had been intending to store this for my fight with Saber, but... you've earned it, Lancer. Before you die once more, I will show you the true greatness of the King of Conquerors!" Rider spoke, grandly. "Master! Come here!" said Rider, as his horse materialized into existence, neighing in protest, but soon calming when Rider mounted it.

Cedric squeaked, and soon joined his servant, knowing better than to keep the giant of a man waiting. "What is it?" he asked.

Rider grabbed the back of his robes, and set him atop Bucephalus, in front of him. "You should join me in this charge. All of my loyal subjects will," he whispered, before raising his sword, invoking winds that hadn't been there before, which swirled around the very tip of his sword as if it was the eye of a hurricane. "Gather, my comrades! Tonight we will fight as the greatest legend in history!" yelled the King of Conquerors, as a massive blue sphere exploded from where he and Bucephalus stood, quickly swallowing Lancer and a great deal of the forest.

In a flash of light, the world had disappeared and been replaced by an empty, vast desert, a completely deserted plain, marked only by the sandstorm that was slowly clearing.

The perfect place to stage the charge of a great army.

Lancer grinned as his blood boiled with excitement. He remembered this scene all too well, even if the lands of Ulster were not behind his back at present.

"OUR OPPONENT TODAY IS THE MIGHTY HOUND OF ULSTER! HE HAS SHOWN HIMSELF WORTHY OF OUR FULLEST EFFORT!" yelled Iskandar, pulling his sword arm back, half turning around to address the figures that were just now becoming visible from the clouds of sand that had covered them before. "LET US SHOW HIM OUR PATH OF CONQUEST!"

The conqueror's army roared its approval, and soon, with his own roaring battle cry, Rider gestured forward with his weapon, and his army followed behind, charging in formation behind him.

Far distant, as they had been separated by the activation of what no doubt had to be Rider's ultimate trump card, Lancer grinned. "You must have earned the respect and undying loyalty of each and every single one of these men. For this, I respect you. You certainly are the greatest King I've met, a conqueror without equal, who can even invoke loyalty in those who priorly were your enemies," the hound of Ulster commented, shaking his head. "But I am not defeated yet."

Lancer's muscles began to convulse as he stood, and black veins appeared all over his exposed skin. Soon, he was shaking in place, before he, all of a sudden, let out a shriek of combined agony and something primal, something that would've given any but an army led by the King of Conquerors pause.

"_Ríastrad_!"

The first warp-spasm seized Cú Chulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front.

On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child... he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn't probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram's fleece reached his mouth from his throat.

The hair of his head twisted like the tange of a red thornbush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage.

The mounstruous hound of Ulster roared as it became possessed by the greatest of its battle frenzies, and met Iskandar's army head on.

Possessed of strength and speed far outstripping that which the human had possesssed, the monstrous hound quickly tore across the batlefield, rapidly engaging each and every last man that faced him, and tearing them apart with its monstrous hands, more akin to the claws of a wild creature. The odd proportions and impossible anatomy proved a massive challenge for those who would fight him, as his movements were not subject to human limitations.

Even as he himself was suffering a collection of wounds that turned the already hideous monstrosity into a pile of shredded flesh that was even then moving and killing everything in its path. Hundreds soon fell to the creature's might, and entire walls of corpses had been built around it, forcing a more favourable set of circumstances on it as attack avenues were quickly being closed off by the piled corpses.

For what felt like hours, and was yet instants, battle raged and man after man fell in single combat against the Hound of Ulster, though as time passed, it accumulated more and more wounds.

And yet, despite the hound's tenacity and unstoppable wrath...

It finally found itself defeated.

The sword of the Kupriotes had been driven through its heart, ensuring a fatal blow.

Finally, as his last moments approached, Cú Chulainn returned to his natural form, to the face that had charmed hundreds of dames both married and not, as he offered a final, pained smile to the King of Conquerors. "Heh... I... have no regrets," he said, pulling himself off the blade. "But... before I die... I have one last thing to do..."

The land around them collapsed and crashed, revealing the Forbidden Forest once more.

Iskandar nodded, even as the roar of his army finally faded away.

Bucephalus neighed and Rider dismounted, pulling his Master with him.

"Dammit- what are you doing?" Cedric asked, shocked.

"It's his last request. I cannot deny him," Rider said, solemnly. "As a show of my respect for him as a warrior, I will allow him to complete his final promise."

Lancer nodded, and mounted the massive black horse, which soon leaped into motion, following his directions.

"You're... actually pretty cool, you know?" Cedric finally said, looking at Iskandar.

The man smiled fondly and mussed Cedric's already messy hair. All this action hadn't been good for it. "Of course I am. Come, let us follow him. He is going in the same direction we need to go, and he will no doubt lead us to Saber."

* * *

Hooo boy.

Hope that fight was satisfying.

And for those who will no doubt begin bitching... Just a heads up? Lancer here was summoned in Ireland, and so he received a BIG popularity boost, which allowed him access to his chariot (named after his Charioteer, actually, because the grail does weird things... Invisible Air somehow became a Bounded Field despite actually being King Arthur's Mantle, after all...) and the Riastrad despite his not being a Berserker. Also... that passage describing the effect was kind of quoted from Wikipedia, with very very minor alterations (I separated it into multiple paragraphs and changed the way his name is spelled in it to fit with how it's spelled in the rest of the chapter). I wouldn't have been able to do it justice. Yes, Setanta, who's supposed to have a face that could charm the panties off any woman, becomes THAT hilariously ugly when he has his worst Battle Frenzy/Warp Spasm/Torque.

Seriously, really, really hope that this fight was satisfying to the people who wanted to see Lancer being allowed to be awesome while at the same time showing that yes, Iskandar is fucking awesome too. I tried my best, I swear, and though I could've gone into more detail about the fight between Riastrad Lancer and the Ionioi Hetairoi army, I felt that it would've lengthened the chapter unnecessarily. It's best left to the imagination how he builds walls around him to force one on one combat with the corpses of his enemies.

Coming up, the conclusion to this dilemma!

No Dumbledojo today, folks. I'm sorry, but... can I just promise to have a big one next time? Uh... maybe next time is a bad choice, since that's the finale of this arc... I'll try, at least.

Lancer is the first confirmed casualty in this Grail War (it could be no one else, really) and to commemorate it, next chapter I will post his stat sheet to show how tremendously different he is to the one that was summoned in the fifth Heaven's Feel. Also, he's the third British hero that has been revealed so far... Saber, Archer and him are all British. Welsh, English and Irish, in that order. Huh.


	13. Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part IV

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Have Fun Storming the Temple, Part Four**

* * *

Hermione groaned, as she lay on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. Around her, Ron and his brothers Fred and George were all seated deceptively casually, all with wands in hand, hidden beneath the folds of their sleeves. She was sweating, more than she should, but she was calming and cooling down as time passed and her body got accustomed to the strain of sustaining her temporary servant.

If Harry had to deal with this kind of drain every day, and even more since Saber drained large amounts of energy at a time because their connection had been mangled so badly, then she had a newfound respect for her friend and the true depths of his magic power. She hadn't believed the difference between them was so incredibly vast, but it very clearly was.

For the time being, she was safe in the common room, but she didn't feel right not participating in Harry's rescue.

Ron absolutely refused to let her out, however, because while she wasn't as juicy a target as Harry had been, or anywhere near as obvious, it was clear that shit was going down at that very moment.

As such, it was the only thing she could do to hope for Mordred's success.

"Hello there, Hermione Granger," said a startling, soft yet oh so very loud voice, which caused the three Weasleys guarding Hermione to jump.

Absolutely none of them had seen, or heard, the slip of a girl that had oh so easily snuck past their guard to stand right next to Hermione, but all of them recognized her on sight, and it showed, as all three called her name at once. "Luna?!"

The girl nodded. "Hello Ronald. Hello George. Hello Frederick. How are you this lovely night?" she asked, turning to each of them in turn.

"Just peach- wait, no, what the hell are you doing here? How did you get in here?" Ron asked, clearly surprised.

"Learning the password was laughably easy, as most Gryffindors shout it. As for what I am doing here, I came to visit Hermione, of course."

"Uhm... Do I know you?" Hermione asked, somewhat surprised.

"Well, no, not really. Not yet. But I do know you. You wouldn't believe the rumours the humdingers spread about you in the Ravenclaw tower, most of which involve demonic rituals to attain that big brain of yours. Poor dears, they can't see the Nargle infestation that is whispering those ridiculous ideas," she said, shaking her head. "And they don't even heed my advice when I tell them how to keep them at bay. Oh, well, I suppose it's their bodies," she said, gesturing towards a butterbeer cork necklace that was hanging on top of a thin white shirt.

Hermione wondered if she was cold. "... this is weird, and confusing. Can you start from the top?"

Luna nodded. "Yes, well, I came to tell you that you will soon lose your servant, though she wasn't yours to begin with," Luna said, nodding in a matter of fact way. "And that you shouldn't worry about it. There was something else that Lailoken, that silly cambion, told me to tell you, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Something about wearing someone else's panties," Luna said, tapping her chin.

"Wait, what?" Fred asked. "Someone's panties, Hermione?"

George nodded. "Now this is a juicy story!"

Hermione was bright red. "It's not what you think-"

"But it really is!" Luna protested.

"I know how to obliviate people. I will erase your memory of how to control your bladders unless ALL of you agree RIGHT NOW to never mention anything that has been said by Luna EVER again. Am. I. Understood?" Hermione asked, turning to look at the three Weasleys.

"Our lips are sealed-"

"-O great and powerful Dark Lady Sapphos!"

Hermione turned bright red again and brandished her wand.

"Shutting up now," both chorused.

"... Sapphos?" Ron asked.

"You don't want to know," Hermione said, her wand menacingly twitching in his direction.

"I don't want to know," Ron parroted, a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek.

"Good boy," Hermione complimented, storing her wand. "Luna, how do you- no, nevermind. Lailoken? That must be Ruler's name... huh... I recognize it from somewhere... I'll have to check in the library," Hermione said, nodding to herself.

Luna nodded to her and then bowed slightly. "Ah, right, before I forget, he also said that you should prepare for the Return of The King, though I have no idea what he could possibly want with Elvis Presley, and why it would be important to get Harry's invisibility cloak to him in the following hour or so, but there it is. Bye bye!" she said, before she turned around and began to skip away, as merrily as she would have any other moment.

"Well that was..." George began.

"Weird? Freaky? Strange?" Fred supplied.

"I'm going with option D, all of the above," Ron added.

Hermione sighed. "Ruler must've just thought it would be funny to use her as a messenger. Though why some random Ravenclaw, I have no idea," Hermione said, bringing her hands to her face and rubbing the sleep away. "It's not even surprising anymore. Still... She said we have to get Harry's cloak to him. Though... why? The order clearly came from Ruler, but..."

Ron frowned. "Maybe it's another trap. So far this has been one trap after another, non stop," Ron commented.

"Well, it could be, but I doubt it. So far, Ruler has been mostly helping Harry. If he'd just stayed back, Saber would've disappeared and Harry would've never been saved by her." Admittedly, she also wouldn't have the problem of sustaining a Servant, which was putting her in a bit of a foul mood.

"Then we should all go together," Fred stated.

"Indeed, my smart brother! Truly, your genius is peerless!" George replied.

"Only because you let me, my lazy brother!" Fred said, shaking his head.

"We're going to do this right. We're going to walk into the Forbidden forest, and it's got something even worse than Acromantula in it. It's crawling with enemy servants," Ron said, simply. "So... how are we going to do this?"

* * *

Harry was floating in a vast expanse of green. The grass was so soft that it might as well be air, or water, that held him aloft. He liked it. The infinitely vast expanse of green grass, with softly slopped hills in the distance and the clear dark blue sky above him were all beautiful imagery. To him, who had lived his life surrounded by gray or lifeless walls, this was perhaps the most beautiful place he'd ever been in.

His worries all slipped from his mind, and his mind drifted off to parts unknown, to thoughts of nothing but how much he enjoyed basking in the sea of grass, of how relaxing the soft breeze that moved it was. He didn't mind as he felt himself land in the water, the warm breeze contrasting with the template water that he floated on.

Distantly, he could hear the chirping of the birds, the whisper of the wind, around him the flowers bloomed and in the sky the moon lazily drifted in the sky, raining its moonlight to illuminate the world around him.

Harry's lips drew into a smile, as he basked in what he considered to be the perfect night to sleep under the stars, calmly rocked by the waves of the sea around him.

* * *

Mordred was not having a nice day at all.

The events of her day had already started poorly, and had only gotten worse as time passed.

She had found out a very vital and important fact.

B Rank Magic Resistance meant nothing in the fact of a Witch from the Age of the Gods that was being powered by not one but two Masters.

Another thing that she had learned was that High Speed Divine Words' boost to spellcasting speed hurt. Bad. Whereas it took groups of wizards rituals with catalysts and long arias to produce the effects of high level spells, this witch was doing it simply by chanting a single word. Even worse, she was scarcely using any of her own Prana to achieve such results, despite her vast amounts, no. Her own Prana was being focused elsewhere, though for what reason, Mordred couldn't even begin to fathom.

Alone, the witch wouldn't have been that big a problem to deal with. While powerful and skilled well beyond the limits of the current age of Wizards and Witches, they were not fighting in a series of cramped tunnels in which Mordred couldn't dodge the attacks her Magic Resistance didn't nullify outright. They were fighting in a cathedral-esque temple underground, which provided plenty of space and objects to dodge Caster's magic with.

The problem was that Caster wasn't alone.

Mordred had to admit she had underestimated the human that accompanied Caster at first. The girl hadn't said much, merely looked somewhat contrite and clearly disliking what she was doing, but nevertheless, teh magenta haired girl- no, she was a woman, clearly, activated runes that had been stitched into her clothes, a muggle suit that had been perfectly tailored for maximum mobility and comfort, and then leaped into melee.

Despite the runes, there was a massive difference between their physical capabilities. However, the woman was immensely skilled in hand to hand combat, using some style she called some sort of boxing, though what it had to do with boxes was beyond Mordred.

The two together had managed to bring Mordred to a stalemate, despite her best efforts.

And the worst part?

She could see her master. He was just out of her reach, hidden behind a barrier of pink energy, sitting on a throne at the far end of the long hall that the battle was taking place in. He was strapped to it and from the way he looked, he was clearly being drained of Prana.

Her rage burned at the sight, and she had reached peak ferocity. It was only her unrelenting aggression and unorthodox combat style that had, so far, kept her alive. The human woman was starting to tire, without a constant source of Prana replenishing her and with human endurance and limits, but Mordred suspected that it'd still be a long while before she could even begin to turn the tides of the fight.

Plus, it didn't help that every chance she had, Caster took to create annoying minions from pieces of rubble or even pieces of other, dead minions, all to temporarily distract her. In some cases, it was barely enough to get her to take a hit, but the damage was accumulating.

Mordred had to assume they'd read her Master's mind, and as such would've known about her Battle Continuation skill, which would've made a strategy based on wearing her down futile at best. So, why were they so keen on holding it? Caster wasn't taking chances for lethal attacks when she could, and the human was clearly more interested in surviving than she was in winning.

Mordred, however, wasn't keen on letting either of her opponents live, and when the increasing fatigue of the magenta haired woman prompted her to make a mistake, Mordred struck her in the solar plexus with her gauntleted hand, doubling her over and forcing her to catch her breath, as well as control the dry heaves that the hard punch had surely invoked.

"Bazett, retreat," Caster commanded, and Mordred allowed her to.

She'd get to this 'Bazett' person later.

For now, she had an annoying bug to squash. "Caster. Your life will end soon," Mordred stated, gripping Clarent in both hands, a gesture to show how truly serious she was in such a statement. She would use the strength provided by the two handed grip in her following attack.

The witch was floating under her own power, above the pews that had littered the place, her ornate cloak spread over her shoulders in a mockery of wings, and Mordred intended to split her in twain where she was, interrupting whatever ritual she was using her Master for. To achieve that, Mordred used her Prana Burst, which she had not been using before so as to not strain Hermione's reserves, to jump high enough to go for a top down cleaving attack, that would hopefully smash through any shield Caster could conjure.

However, the witch hadn't conjured a shield. In fact, she merely smiled even as the sword approached.

All the way until a yell of exertion distracted Mordred, forcing her to turn her head aside long enough to see Bazett coming down at her, leg first, as if a spear thrown from the heaveans, stricking her in her side. Mordred was reminded, then, that her armor was not indestructible, as the attack smashed right through it and forced her to the ground. She even got to experience what being a surf board was like, before Bazett kicked off her, panting from exertion.

Mordred groaned, that blow had hurt a lot, and she was certain at least four of her ribs had cracked and the rest had almost done the same. On the flip side, she was certain the woman in a suit had just broken her foot kicking her. Watching how awkwardly she was standing told her as much.

Mordred stood back up, but she knew she needed a second to catch her breath.

Fortunately, Caster didn't seem inclined to attack then. "Surrender, Saber- Resistance is futile," Caster said, her voice calm and even, as if she hadn't exerted herself at all. "You will not interrupt this ritual, I've invested too much time and resources into its completion!"

"What ritual?" Mordred asked, frowning. "Why did you need my Master?" she added.

"The ritual to summon an eighth servant under my command, of course," Caster said, an ugly grin on her face that marred her otherwise beautiful features. "And your Master will be the vessel."

"Eighth? Don't you mean ninth?" asked Bazett, clearly as shocked as Mordred was.

"No. In this war, only seven Servants have been summoned. I was as shocked as yourself when I learned it," Caster admitted. "But 'Ruler' is no such servant. No Ruler for this Grail War has been summoned," she said, matter of factly. "Of course, none of you could tap into your connection to the grail and utilize it to its fullest capability as I have," Caster stated, shaking her head. "Ruler has been in existence for Forty years. The prior Grail War was never finished, and so Ruler never disappeared."

"What!?"

"It is as you heard. As the Grail saw no need to summon the same Servant class twice, Ruler was never summoned."

"How is that even possible?" Bazett asked.

"If anyone could manipulate the grail to prolong their existence, it would be Ruler," Mordred said, shaking her head. "But he would've been unsummoned when the Grail detected six servants had been defeat..."

"Not quite. Ruler is banished only when the last servant disappears. What this means is that not one but two servants from the prior Grail War are still alive, somewhere, and as such, their Grail War is ongoing even now," Caster explained. "As there is still a slot open, I plan to fill it with my own servant."

"And why do you need my Master for this!?" Mordred yelled.

"Yes. Why Harry Potter, exactly? You were pretty adamant it had to be him," Bazett said, eyes narrowed.

"To use him as the catalyst, of course. I intend to summon a hero that, within these lands, would be invincible. The greatest Hero that Britannia has, the one they worship even today. Perhaps you might recognize the name, Saber," Caster said with a sly smile on her face as she floated through the air.

"N-No... you can't mean..."

"Harry Potter will be the catalyst I will use to summon the once and future King, Arthur Pendragon!" called Caster, laughing slightly at the faces that both Bazett and Mordred made.

"F-Father..." Mordred muttered, torn inside.

She... she didn't know what to think of her father. Her master had made her aware that, on some level, she still loved her father. But she could not forget, nor forgive, her father's disapproval and coldness. She could never bring herself to look past the Perfect King's dismissal, and how much and how deeply that had hurt. However, she could not say that she was not excited to meet her father once more.

But whether it was because she wanted to cut her head off with Clarent or because she wanted to once more reach out to receive the Perfect King's acceptance... She couldn't say.

She couldn't even bluster her way out of the dilemma, or even ignore it altogether.

However, Mordred wasn't about to forget something very important. Her Master was still in peril. In fact, he was in great peril.

"But... an eight Servant... you wouldn't be able to summon Ruler..."

"I don't need to," Caster said, shaking her head. "While King Arthur would, indeed, be acceptable for the class, I am intending for him to be to another, much more fitting class for him. King Arthur was exactly that, a King, but he was also more. He was a Knight. A swordsman... but more importantly of all... to his country, he was a _saviour_," Caster said, a gleeful grin in her face.

Bazett frowned.

Mordred's eyes narrowed. She wondered if this would push Hermione too far, but for a moment, she considered utilizing Clarent's ultimate power right then and there. The witch was open to attack. The woman who was her ally was clearly rethinking their alliance.

But why... why couldn't she?

Why was she rooted to the spot?

A growl was the only thing she could threaten Caster with, as the witch looked down upon them from above.

"But before I bring King Arthur back... I shall deal with you. After all, you killed him once, Mordred. Far be it from me to allow you to do so once more," Caster said, as a staff materialized into her hands. "From a famous betrayer to another, I give you my pity, to have come as close to happiness and success as we both did... Perhaps, in another life, we could've commiserated over our fates. Alas, I have no time to dwell on you."

Mordred couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot. The witch's magic had capitalized on what remained of her Master's prana within her system. Mordred cursed. It was likely the witch had been here experimenting and researching since the very moment she had been summoned! Her knowledge of the Grail and its functioning was most likely second only to that of the original creators of the ritual, and that most likely went into her knowledge of servants, as well.

Had she discovered some way to manipulate her through the vestiges of the link between her and her master?

The barrier that separated her master from the rest of the world flickered for a moment.

"What the- the ritual is completed? But... no, it's too early... not enough of his prana has been drained yet. He shouldn't be capable of receiving the Soul of King Arthur yet!"

"W-What?" Bazett asked.

"There are only eight vessels to use in the Holy Grail War," Caster explained, turning to look at them. "As they were all in use, I had to create my own. And for that, I had to provide a body. Naturally, I needed a homunculus. Coining one within this time frame was impossible, and as such, I decided to utilize the only homunculus that currently attends Hogwarts as the vessel."

"My... my master is..." Mordred was at a loss for words.

"He's a what!?" Bazett cried in surprise. "So THAT is how Lily Potter saved him from the Killing Curse!"

So Harry was not only the catalyst for the summoning of King Arthur, he was also the vessel that would be used.

"How... He said that this would go perfectly, so why-"

"Well, frankly, my dear, your first mistake was trusting that I was telling you the truth in its entirety," said a new, clearly amused voice. "You were, as they say, kind of a complete idiot."

"RULER!?" Mordred shouted.

"In the fleshy Prana!" Ruler said, bowing as he materialized in front of Mordred, before turning to Caster. "Admittedly, you never really did have a choice in the matter, did you dear?"

Caster flushed. "You, you-"

"Pig? Evil bastard? I've heard those and many more, sweetcheeks, don't hold back for my sake," Ruler said, cheekily. "And yes, I can think of a dozen better uses for your mouth," he said, taking a few steps forward towards the pink barrier that separated Harry Potter from the world. "But I was completely right about you! You followed my every design to the letter! I would say you deserve a reward, but you wouldn't be open to anal right now, would you?"

Caster sent a bolt of pink energy his way, which he absent mindedly back handed away.

"Yeah, figured you'd be anal retentive," Ruler said, nodding to himself, before he burst out laughing. "Ooh, I have to write that down somewhere. I kill myself sometimes," he said, shaking his head.

"Ruler- what is going on!?" Bazett asked.

"Ah, yes, I suppose I should explain, right? The brat brigade should be here in... five seconds ago," he said, turning around and gesturing with his staff at the massive gates that Mordred had come through just an hour before.

From it spilled Hermione Granger and three of the brothers Weasley.

"Did you bring what I told Luna to bring?" Ruler asked. "Such a darling child she is. So much like her mother, that girl," he said to himself, shaking his head. "Ah, I'll miss Selene. Tightest cunt I've ever fu-"

"WHAT!?"

"Oh, right, didn't she tell you? I'm Luna's father, Lailoken of Strythclide, although I've changed my name as it struck my fancy so much that I doubt few even remember. You might know me as Ambrosius, Myrdin or Merlin," Ruler said, bowing as if he had just made a grand performance. "Though my friends call me Dave. Or they would, if I had some of those."

"What... What the bloody hell is going on here!?" Ron asked, taking the words off everyone's mouth.

"Well, I thought I would invite you to the resurrection of King Arthur," he said, turning to face the pink barrier that separated Harry from the world.

Raising a hand to it, he touched it and it turned golden, particles streaming off it. "Hm, that should do it."

* * *

Harry's dream of a paradise was distracting. He couldn't really focus on much of anything. He had wanted to swim, but then he forgot he wanted to swim, and instead he had sat on the surface of the water to fish. By the time he remembered he wanted to fish, he was on the furthest depths of the sea below him, exploring and watching all the wonderful sea creatures swim around and away from him.

Back in the surface again, Harry looked at the distant sun. Hadn't it been night minutes before? Ah, but what did it matter, in the end? The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the wind was whispering subtle encouragements in his ear and the waves were once more rocking him to sleep, floating in a bed of blooming flowers. He looked at the distant moon, almost hidden by the glare of the sun, with a smile. It felt comforting, reminded him of an old friend. The warm rays of the sun sun dried him, and the day remained pleasantly warm.

Letting out a sigh of pleasure, Harry closed his eyes and relaxed, letting himself be claimed by the perfect world he was surrounded with.

In time, the birds began to cease their chirping, and the wind's whispers slowed to a crawl, replacing its soft, encouraging whispers with a harsh drawl, overflowing with deceit.

In time, the flowers that surrouned him began to hide their buds, and the moon above him began to forget its cycle, remaining still and being devoured by the light of the sun.

In time, the world was consumed by the light, and behind left nothing but darkness, infinite, all encompassing darkness, and Harry was now trapped in a freezing sea, in which something dragged him to the bottom.

The world was in turmoil, a storm turning the calm sea into a raging, treacherous world.

"You've been resting for so long, so very long... You promised, remember? You would rest until then. Until the day you were needed once more."

Harry frowned.

Had he?

He couldn't remember. He remembered nothing but sleep.

What was he doing? Was he even doing anything at all? He was just resting. He had been so tired, after all. So tired, so weak... Exhausted...

But he had.

He had promised.

When he was needed again... when he was needed... he had promised.

When he was needed, he promised he would be there.

So... what was he doing, resting? What right had he, to rest, while others were desperately calling for him?

"So wake up, sleepy one... It's time to save your world."

* * *

The barrier flickered once more.

"What... what..." Hermione was at a loss for words.

"I suppose I might as well explain while we wait for this to complete. You see, a long, long time ago, there was a Grail Tournament. So, forty years ago, but who's counting? Certainly not me. Ahem. This Grail Tournament never finished, because instead of the traditional eight, nine servants were summoned. Now, summoning extra servants is, in and of itself, not all that unusual. It happens every once in a while that some magus, or wizard as they're called now I guess, makes such a spectacular screw up that he winds up breaking the rules of the Grail War. Smart as they were, the Founders of Hogwarts weren't perfect, and didn't create a foolproof system. Now, the ninth servant? He ran away like a coward, and he was out of my sphere of influence so I couldn't bring him to justice. I've only got a ten kilometer radius to the area in which I can utilize my powers as Ruler, and so, I have never been able to find him. Since I had nothing to do, really, I began to get really, really bored. After ten years of sitting and waiting until Avenger stopped being such a coward, I decided I might as well begin to do something to pass the time."

Ruler sat down on a chair that he had just conjured.

"I figured that I had a lot of regrets in life, about a lot of things I had done or hadn't been able to do. So I went and did them. This day and age, a lot of things that would've gotten people executed back then are now legal or less likely to wind up with your corpse hanging from the rafters, so I went and had that threesome I always wanted to have with a mother and her daughter, and many others. But eventually, I grew bored of doing that, so I went to the things that I was, you know, kind of sorry I'd done. And, where I to be frank, there was a pretty big one. You see, there was this cute little girl I knew, the cutest ever really, and she wanted to be able to help her country, she did. So I thought "Well, why the hell not?" and made her King.

"Problem is, when I made her King, I convinced her that she had to abandon her humanity to become something else, that she had to want for nothing and desire nothing, so she could give everything of herself to the country. It went horribly right, and she became little more than an unfeeling automaton doing everything in her power to assure prosperity. Underneath that ice cold mask of the Perfect King, however, was still a human being. A human being who suffered every death of her countrymen as if it were her own, a human being who felt every pang of hunger and every ailment of disease that her people did. A little girl who cried for the country that she was trying, oh so desperately, to save, but she could not, for she was ultimately human, even if I had taken the joy of humanity away from her."

"What are you getting at?" Mordred asked, having never truly thought about what her father must have endured to become the 'Perfect King'. She hadn't ever truly thought beyond the image presented of a strong, unfeeling God of War, and it was odd to hear about King Arthur's less... kingly side.

"What I'm getting at was that I thought I had to inject a little bit of fun back into her life. So, as a joke, I gave her a penis she could use to fornicate with her wife. Maybe have a kid or two to succeed her, so she could give up Avalon and age and die like a normal person when she wished to. It did not work as intended, and you're the end result of that, Mordred."

At this, several gasps were heard, but Hermione ignored them to focus on Mordred, who was paying rapt attention to Ruler.

"In the end, my attempt at giving her a little bit of happiness just gave her more pain and suffering, and another thing she would regret. I couldn't do right by this girl, no matter how hard I tried," he admitted, glumly. "However, I happen to be the greatest Wizard ever born, and so I devised yet another plan. I found a family, one James and his wife Lily, who were expecting a child. A child that was, regrettably, stillborn. However, I could do them a favor and use them to further my plans at the same time. Everybody wins."

"What. Did. You. Do!?" Mordred growled out.

"That's quite simple, really. All I had to do was recover Avalon and hide it somewhere only I knew. Avalon can sheathe Excalibur, but in truth, that was not the purpose it was designed for. It was designed to be the King's resting place, the access point to the Realm of the Fairies, where she would rest upon eternity. What this means, in truth, is that upon her Death, her soul was sent to Avalon, where it has resided for the past millenium. Creating the Holy Grail Tournament was simple. Those four really were wizards and witches beyond compare to those of today, and all I had to do was nudge them in the right direction."

"What did you do to my master?!" Mordred roared.

"Oh, that's quite simple. I gave him life. Harry James Potter died in his mother's womb, but from him I made a homunculus. And in that homunculus, I placed Avalon, which contained the soul of King Arthur. Do the math," he said.

Mordred fell flat on her butt.

Her master... her master was... and had been...

"Yes, yes, Harry James Potter and Arturia Pendragon are one and the same."

* * *

Holy Frikkin' Schnitzel, that's the longest infodump I've ever done in my life. Sooooo sorry about that, folks, but it really does have to be like this. And Ruler's identity is now known for all.

Bet that this is one nasty surprise for everyone who wanted to see Harry and Mordred get together. You can sure as hell bet it's a very nasty surprise for Mordred. It's not like I made all that big a secret of it, after all. Mordred's confusing Harry with Arturia in her sleep, after all. He somehow healed from poison instantly (and no, the whole basilisk venom/phoenix tears thing is fanon so I never even considered that as a possible explanation), had a massive prana reserve... his eyes were stated to be outright identical to Mordred's... And if you've noticed, Harry is acting significantly more chill and controlled than he did in canon.

Who's got the Gif with Shyamalan saying 'What a Tweest'?

Sorry, doods... can't really fit Dumbledojo with this chapter's mood. I think I'll just dedicate Chapter 15 to the Dumbledojo to save myself the trouble. I'll also throw in some additional omakes, and the Servant stat sheets (at least the ones that have been revealed and differ from the canonical ones) then. That okay with you guys? If there's a lot of demand, I can go back and edit this chapter, just gimme a shout.


	14. Lancer's Last Stand

**Thrice-Glorious Victory**

* * *

**Lancer's Last Stand**

* * *

Finally, it was time.

The golden barrier flickered once more and then abruptly crashed as if it were glass, the shards disintegrating into particles of prana that quickly became invisible.

All eyes were focused on the king, even now seated on the throne. Harry's hair, once as black as the night sky on a new moon night, was now of a golden blond shade, and that was the most outwardly eye catching change that had occurred to his personality. However, careful analysis by those who knew him well revealed that further change had occurred, as his facial features were ever so slightly different.

Mordred gulped, at seeing facial features nigh identical to her own, if not outright identical. Even having lost her ability to remain steady on her feet to a combination of exhaustion, pain and shock, she could still hold herself up with her hands, for she could not tear her eyes away from her master, as he opened his eyes.

They hadn't changed one bit, physically, but at the same time, they were so different. Were once had been the bright, open eyes of a teenaged boy just starting to come into his manhood, were now the dulled, guarded eyes of a world weary adult, cold and unforgiving.

Harry stood up from the throne. "In response to your plea for Salvation, I have arrived; I am Servant Saver. I ask of you, are you my master?" he asked, his face turning to the right, to address Caster.

"Hm... that's... not supposed to happen," Ruler said, looking somewhat surprised.

Caster smirked triumphantly. "Did you think I'd be so easy to manipulate, Ruler!? I was not unprepared to face your betrayal!" she stated, getting back on her feet. "Yes, Saver, I am your Master. Now, kill all of our enemies!"

"I refuse," Saver said, simply.

"W-What... how... how dare you-" Caster protested, but was cut off.

"You are wretched, treacherous and vile. I refuse to follow orders from one such as yourself," Saver stated, simply.

Caster growled, but bared her left hand at Saver. "By the power of my command seals, I demand that you kill our enemies!" Caster yelled, sweeping her hand at where the Hogwarts students were trying to pull Mordred back. Her command seal lit up and burned itself off her hand.

"I refuse," Saver said, once more, though a grimace of effort showed that the command seal was, indeed, functioning.

With a victorious grin, Caster pointed with her left hand at the same group she had before. "Saver, by the power of my command seals, I demand that you kill our enemies!"

Saver grunted with what had to be massive effort not to act on such an order, but finally turned his head to address the group that Caster pointed at.

"Ruler! Can't you cancel her command seals!?" asked Hermione, as Saver began to struggle to remain in place once more.

"I could, but... though unexpected, this development is not unentertaining. I shall leave you to your business, and observe from afar. Do hope you make it out alive, you've proven to be ridiculously entertaining with the right incentive. You might even have a future in porn," Ruler said.

At this, the three Weasleys turned to look at her. "What," they chorused.

"It doesn't matter! Mordred, we have to run! Get up!"

"No," Mordred said, firmly. "You... give him back," she said, standing up and pointing with Clarent at Saver.

However, Saver remained silent and perfectly still.

"Did you not hear me, Father!? I told you to give me my master back!"

Saver closed his eyes and looked solemn.

"If you won't... then... Then I will take my master back from you by force! I killed you once you bastard, I will do it again!"

Mordred launched herself forward, a streak of red and silver, Clarent already in full swing.

A resounding clang of steel on steel disrupted the silence, as Saver had finally made a movement, one so fast as to make Mordred's Prana Burst enhanced leap seem slow by comparison.

In his hands was a golden, ornate weapon. It was... beautiful. If Clarent was more dazzling than the most sterling of silvers, then the weapon in Saver's hands was beyond the brightest of jewels, beyond the most pure and brilliant gold. It was a weapon so beautiful that it could not come from human hands. A weapon forged by the Fae.

"Excalibur..." Bazett muttered, to the awed gasps of the Gryffindors present.

"Mordred," Saver said, having not opened his eyes since the moment he had closed them.

Mordred tried to press the attack, but failed to make Saver budge. "Father..." Mordred growled. "You won't allow me happiness, will you?" asked the traitor.

Saver, however, continued to be silent, and didn't even seem to actually be putting all that much effort into keeping Mordred from killing him.

"You said that you didn't hate me... but that was a lie. You despised me, despised me because I am the son of Morgan..."

"I told you once," Saver said, opening his eyes. "Never once did I despise you. The reason I never gave you the throne that you so desired, it was simply because you do not have the capacity of a King."

Mordred growled and took a step back, stopping the clash for an instant, before she began to swing Clarent with all of her strength, keeping her blade in both hands as it was meant to be used, and trying to overpower Saver with straightforward combat. Both swords were simply arcs drawn in the air, weaving beautiful patterns as Saver moved to block each and every one of Mordred's attacks, with seeming ease.

"You have grown, Mordred," Saver said, after Mordred once more locked blades with him.

Mordred growled, once more resuming the melee combat, before once more ending up with locked blades. "You haven't changed in the slightest," she said.

Saver didn't seem affected. "Before, you fought solely for yourself, did you not? There was nothing but selfishness in your heart. You wanted the throne for yourself. You never understood what it meant to be a King. What it meant to give all of yourself for the Kingdom that you wished to protect. There was nothing or no one that you truly treasured, and for whom you would have given everything," Saver stated, closing his eyes, before almost effortlessly pushing Mordred back, and swinging Excalibur in attacking fashion for the first time since the fight had started.

Mordred had been overpowered and put in a bad spot, out of balance. The attack had caught her completely by surprise, however, it hadn't been directed at her body. Instead, Saver had struck at her sword, at its base.

Where Excalibur struck Clarent, the silver blade shattered into a thousand shards of metal, quickly becoming useless. Mordred did not truly know how to feel about the destruction of her Noble Phantasm. The weapon was a symbol, as much of her legend as it was of her struggle, of her love for her father twisted into her burning hatred for the Perfect King. She'd hated it as much as she'd cherished it, unconsciously. To see its destruction left a bad taste in her mouth.

However, there wasn't much to dwell in, as Saver took a step forward. "But you have found a reason to fight for. A reason to give everything of yourself to," Saver said, raising Excalibur.

"You took him away from me!" Morded yelled, striking with her left fist, striking Saver's unprotected cheek and forcing him a few steps back from the unexpected attack. However, her follow up, when she tried to strike using what was left of Clarent sticking out from the hilt, she was blocked by Saver kicking her away from himself, causing her to land on her back.

Saver took a step forward, and used a single hand to point Excalibur right at Mordred's face, making it clear that any undue movement occurring would mean that Saver would stab forward and end her life. "For that... I can do naught but apologize," Saver said, tilting his head down, before he pulled his arm back.

"Mordred, to me, now!" Hermione yelled.

Immediately after, Mordred disappeared from under Saver, whose arm snapped into motion, burying Excalibur three inches into the stone ground, before he pulled it back.

"Harry... I know you're in there somewhere," Hermione said. "Don't do this... you're stronger than this..."

"Hermione... I am Harry Potter," Saver said. "Just as much as I am Arturia Pendragon. I can't be one or the other any less than I can be the other," he said.

"You're not my master! You're not him..." Mordred said, before glaring at Saver once more. "My master... he was full of warmth and kindness. You're cold. He... he was the first person to ever love me, for who I am, not for what I can do for them..." she continued, shaking her head. "I will not allow you to take him from me!"

"A boy of fourteen years... his personality could never be dominant when the two personalities clashed," Bazett mused, frowning as she looked at the byplay. "But..."

"By the power of my command seals, Saver, I DEMAND THAT YOU KILL THEM!"

With a grimace of pain, Saver lifted his sword once more, prepared to rush forward and end the fight immediately. With explosive speed, Saver dashed forward.

However, just as Saver was about to split Mordred in twain, he was struck by a rushing black blur.

"LANCER!" yelled Bazett.

"Bazett! Take the witch! I'll hold him off!" yelled the blue knight, dismounting his horse as it set about distracting Saver.

"Lancer!? What happened!? you're- you're covered in blood!" Bazett yelled.

"Yeah, about that, I kind of lost, and my death is a foregone conclusion," Lancer said, turning to her with a smile. "Sorry I could never take you on that date I promised, but..."

Bazett took a few steps forward, her eyes tearing up slightly as she seemed about to say something, before she was tackled to the ground by one of the trio of redheads. A pink beam went right through where her head had been just a moment ago.

"Damn- Bazett, you've got to fight the witch. She has no idea how to actually fight in melee combat, you're their only hope! Don't worry about me, I'll buy you enough time!" he said, before turning back around to face Saver. He was soon joined by Mordred, and they both were forced to dodge as Bucephalus was thrown past them, the massive black horse being easily removed as if it were just a nuisance.

Bazett nodded at them, and then went on to charge into battle against Caster.

"No weapon?" asked Mordred.

Lancer snorted. "No weapon yourself?"

"Shit happened, no regrets at all," Lancer said with a small smile.

"Good to know. Don't kill him, my master's gonna need that body intact," Mordred said, simply.

Lancer smiled.

Saver looked at them for a second. "I am surprised you would accept help to duel me, Mordred."

"Were this a duel to the death, I would rather enjoy a one on one duel," Lancer admitted.

"But this isn't a duel to the death," Mordred stated, cracking her knuckles and taking a basic fighting stance. "Like I said, my master's gonna need that body to be intact when he gets it back."

The fight that ensued was entirely one sided, and not in favour of the duo. It became quite clear that despite his Battle Continuation reducing the effects of the debilitating wounds on him, Lancer was growing weaker as time passed, and was not as much help as he would've been had he been at full health. The fact that his spear itself was gone did not bode well for them.

"Bazett! It was to be expected that you and the mutt would turn on me!" Caster said, as Bazett rolled to the side to avoid another one of her spells. She gestured with one hand to raise a barrier to block the spells that the other wizards threw at her, laughing at their pitiful attempts at magic before turning towards them and smashing their hastily conjured defenses apart with the very same spell they'd tried to hit her with. Bombarda. It took but a second for Caster to learn how to use it better than the very witch who had used it on her.

"I was never your ally," Bazett remarked. "In fact, I was always here to make sure you didn't target the students. You were the biggest threat amongst the summoned servants to the student body. One such as you... I would not be surprised if you had tried to swallow the souls of the students."

"My master wouldn't allow it," Caster said, almost as if she didn't care that she'd just admitted that she'd go on to do one of the most heinous acts imaginable with nary a care in the world, before she raised her hands and the ground beneath Bazett imitated the motion, creating two large hands of dirt to grasp at her.

Bazett grunted and kicked at one while elbowing the other, causing them both to shatter into clumps of dirt, before she kicked off the ground, her right leg forward. Caster raised a barrier in front of her, but the barrier was struck first by four Bombarda spells, causing it to become weak enough to be shattered by Bazett's kick. Once within her guard, Bazett grabbed Caster's cloak and forcefully yanked her off her flight spell, throwing her to the ground. Immediately after Caster hit the ground, Bazett landed, shoulder first, on Caster's chest, causing her to gasp in shock at the pain.

"Even though you are the weakest servant in melee combat... your physical abilities are well beyond that of a normal human," Bazett stated, as she punched Caster a few times while she was down. "But my fists... enhanced by these runes... are stronger than you!"

"That's my girl," Lancer remarked, as he ducked under a wide slash that would've cut his shoulders off the rest of his torso.

"Somtimes I kinda wish my Master could defend himself that well," Mordred remarked, as she noticed Excalibur coming back to strike at her, ducking in a similar way.

Both of the unarmed servants then nodded and charged, shoulder first, landing a double tackle on Saver, though it was clearly proven to be a bad idea as Saver was still significantly stronger than them, stopping them both from pushing him back and then slapping Mordred aside with Excalibur's flat side while at the same time kicking Lancer off.

"Saver, defend me!" Caster yelled, as she realized just how horribly out of her depth she was in a melee fight against Bazett, barely managing to stop her enemy from pounding her face in.

"He literally couldn't," said one of the taller redheads, approaching Caster from the right.

"Even if he wanted to," the other said, his wand twirling in his hands.

"You used all three command seals," Ron stated, as he himself came up from the only remaining direction. Caster was now well and truly surrounded, with one of Bazett's hands choking her and preventing her from casting using her high speed divine words.

Lancer smiled at the sight. "Now, finish her off!" he yelled.

Bazett nodded and raised her right fist to splatter Caster's head against the ground, but when she attacked, her fist struck only the ground, leaving a small crater beneath it. She winced, and looked up to see the Weasleys wince in sympathetic pain. "She got away..!?" asked Ron in surprise.

"Her master probably got her out with a Command Seal," Bazett said, frowning and standing up.

At this, Lancer frowned. "Well... It seems that I'll die the same way I did the first time. Couldn't even keep my promise to see Caster dead before I was gone," he said, shaking his head with a frown. "Saber... you should just run. We can't beat this guy. I'll hold him off right here, so he can't chase you. If you go far enough, the command seal should lose effectiveness."

"Lancer... you..." Bazett began, looking at her servant.

"Yeah, yeah. I suppose that dying in combat to protect the people I care about is the best way to die, so... like I said, I have no regrets," he said, before he grabbed onto the reddest part of his bodysuit and ripped it apart, revealing a large hole where his chest should be. "I've only got at most a minute or so before I fade anyway," he said, as his hands went into the hole to become wet with blood. He winced as he touched the tender flesh inside.

Mordred disengaged from Saver, pulling back. "I can't... I can't leave my master again. If I had just..."

"You're not helping him here," said a new voice, as a man covered in small cuts walked into the room, followed by his master. It was Rider, followed by Cedric. "Discretion is the better part of valor. Even I had to engage in a tactical retreat to regroup and reevaluate the situation every once in a while," he said, smiling.

"Is that... Harry?" Cedric asked, looking at where Saver was, still standing close by the throne.

"So it seems," Rider said. "But that's also a servant... It's confusing, to say the least."

"We'll explain later," spoke Hermione. "We need... we need to get to Ruler. I'm sure he'll know a way to save Harry."

"Can we even trust that guy? He set all of this up!" Ron asked, nearly shocked that Hermione would suggest such a thing.

"Pulled the wool," Fred said, frowning.

"Over our eyes," George added. "We're both new to the Tournament business," he continued.

"But even we can tell a Prank Master when we see one," Fred finished.

"He might like you two," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter... I think I might know a way or two to entice him, if I've judged his character right... But we need to retreat. We can't defeat Harry here and he's compelled by all three of Caster's command seals to kill us all."

"I can't abandon my master again..." Mordred muttered to herself, glaring at Saver.

"If you stay here, Harry will be forced to kill you! Have you thought about how much THAT would hurt him?!" Hermione asked, sending a stinging hex at Mordred as she couldn't slap the servant over a distance. It fizzled against Mordred's magical resistsance, but otherwise achieved its purpose of gaining her attention. "We'll get Harry back. I swear... Even if I have to personally kill King Arthur to get my best friend back, I will!"

"You know, it's kind of blas.. balas..." Ron began, struggling to get the word he was trying to get from his brain dictionary.

"Blasphemous," Hermione provided.

"Right, blasphemose for us to fight King Arthur at all," Ron said, cheekily.

"But when has a little rule breaking," Fred commented.

"Been something to stop us?" George added.

Bazett laughed. "I suppose you must be the famous Weasley twins I've heard so much about in the castle," Bazett said, before shaking her head. "It's not time for your antics right now. Can you apparate yet?"

"Yeah, but the place is warded. We tried," Fred said.

"I can bring down that ward," Lancer said, smiling. "Grab someone who can't apparate and get them out of here. Go!" he said, as his fingers drew a rune in the air with his blood, which quickly began to glow and then disappeared, taking out the wards with it. Then he drew three more runes, and elemental explosions began to assault Saver, who seemed to merely take the attacks without flinching in the slightest.

Probably very, very high magical resistance, Lancer mused.

It only made sense.

Fred, George, Bazett and Cedric all grabbed onto someone who could not Apparate under their own power and immediately moved as far from the underground lair as they possibly could.

This left Lancer alone with Saver in a catacomb that was burning, frozen in places and shredded in others. "Heh. Would've been fun to try and fight you for real," Lancer said.

Saver merely raised Excalibur to show he was on guard. "If nothing else, you have my respect for your sacrifice."

Lancer laughed and began to draw another rune in the air with his blood, as Saver dashed forwards to end his life.

* * *

An insanely loud explosion rocked the world beneath the escapees' feet.

"Lancer is dead," Bazett said, looking at the ground and away from where anyone could see her face.

"He died a hero," Hermione said, frowning.

"He died on his feet," Bazett said, lifting her head and looking at the distant skyline. "Fighting for us. For me..."

"He would've been a fine soldier for my army," Rider said, closing his eyes almost as if in mourning. "He will not be forgotten."

Bazett shook her head. "You're right. He won't be forgotten. And he would laugh in my face if he knew I'd shed even one tear over his death," she said, raising her wrist and cleaning her face of tears. "Come on... let's not waste his sacrifice. We might not be out of Saver's range yet, the Command Seal could still be effective."

And so they parted ways, with an agreement to meet back up the following day for a strategy session. Mordred revealed the position of the room granted to her and Harry by the grail, figuring that at this point it was pointless to keep the secret.

Hermione Granger chose to spend the night in Harry's room, in Mordred's bed, as Mordred slept in Harry's own. Or rather, Mordred sat on Harry's bed through the night, simply waiting.

"You can't sleep?" Hermione asked, after an hour of deafening silence.

"How could I? How... how could I sleep when I know my Master... I... I'm confused, angry and tired, and I can't make sense of what we just went through," she stated, holding her head as if to ward off a headache.

"I was surprised too. The Harry I met... he was an awkward little boy, who didn't match at all with the legend of the Boy Who Lived. And then I began to know him better... he is brave and kind... even though I'd been nothing but a horrible, annoying know it all to everyone, he still cared enough about me to go running to me to warn me about the troll, even though it'd put him in danger. He even convinced Ron to help him, even though Ron hated my guts at the time... I guess that he's always been special like that, but I never knew..."

Mordred shook her head, but remained silent.

"I'm sure we'll be able to save Harry," Hermione said, smiling a strained, weak smile, product of her tiredness and the fact that she herself didn't have a lot of confidence in that. "He's too tough to just disappear forever like that, right?"

Mordred remained silent the rest of the night, but Hermione soon began snoring softly.

"I hope..." Mordred finally muttered, closing her own eyes and laying down on her master's bed.

No matter what she did... it felt very cold.


End file.
